


A Yellow Dress Forgotten

by VoltageStone



Series: Best Foot Forward! [1]
Category: The Walking Dead (Telltale Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Dark Humor, F/F, Minor canon divergence, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sexual Content, Spoilers (if you care), Violentine, violetine
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:07:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 90,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22233025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VoltageStone/pseuds/VoltageStone
Summary: When Clementine was plunged into the age of walkers, muertos, monsters...she quickly learned what it meant to survive. Fight. Kill. Drink. Forget. Leave the past that haunted her. Leave a yellow dress forgotten.**Ongoing edits and polishing for chapters; 1-3 completely edited and polished. 8 total chapters planned.
Relationships: AJ | Alvin Jr. & Clementine (Walking Dead), Christa & Clementine (Walking Dead: Long Road Ahead), Clementine & Eleanor (Walking Dead), Clementine & Javier García (Walking Dead), Clementine & Kenny (Walking Dead), Clementine/Violet (Walking Dead: Done Running), Louis & Violet (Walking Dead: Done Running)
Series: Best Foot Forward! [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1603381
Comments: 36
Kudos: 74





	1. Episode 1: Blood-Stained

**Author's Note:**

> This is my Clementine's story. What happened during my play-through—with a sprinkle of canon divergence, of course. Or, well, a little more than a sprinkle perhaps. This story goes through the end of Season Two and a little beyond Season Four: The Final Season. The interlude (A Little Girl Remembered) separates the fourth season from the rest (so chapters 5-8 are of the fourth).
> 
> And, well, with that, I hope you enjoy this story. It's my love-letter for the character, and this love-letter is not flowery, nor delicate.  
> :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [First Draft] January 6th, 2020  
> [Second Draft, First Edit] April 3rd, 2020  
> [Final Draft, Second Edit] November 17th, 2020  
> [Final Edit] January 30th, 2021
> 
> [6,332 words]

_"I see humans,_   
_but no humanity..."_

_~Jason Donohue_

* * *

_“L-Lee…? Did you have to kill those men?”_

The last few strings of the girl in her white-stained dress unraveled with each fleck of the snow that swarmed around her, chipping away her warmth piece by piece. She held the bundle of green blankets in her arms, a quiet baby nestled against her shoulder. There were no colors around her other than grey. The snow's glittering white was muted beyond recognition. Her blue jacket and the green blanket were the only sharp contrast. Yet, even then, _dull_.

Clementine did not know where she was going, only far, far away. The Glock snuggled at the small of her back was still warm, and the ghost of its scream still rang in her ears. And the roof of her mouth, too, still felt the metal’s touch. She wandered down the road, following the remnants of cars and trucks. The girl desperately hoped it wouldn't lead her to a city. Anything but that.

The little girl glanced at her reflection as she passed by the windshields. And in the ones where the snow hadn’t fogged the glass, Clementine caught her eyes. The hazel in them…changed.

 _“My baby, my doll. You have the sun in your eyes. Who wouldn’t want to play with you?”_ her dad had once said. _“You’re the light in everyone’s day!”_

Clementine saw no sun. For quite some time, she hadn’t—as if a haze of clouds had covered them. But, on that day, as the snow whipped her face, a crackle of life was born. It wasn’t the sun, no. It was an inferno. The same that her parents had warned her so desperately against in their bible-loving home.

Clementine blinked.

Up ahead was a monstrous dark silhouette overlooking a bundle of vehicles. She hesitated before recognizing the comical shape fixed on its roof: it as only donut shop. She squinted through the light patter of snow; Dunkin', by the looks of the lettering. Clementine ventured forth, her mind buzzing and arms tight around the baby. Her only light of hope: A.J. When the door was pushed open, Clementine half-expected to hear a bell ring; she found it on a table, long since disarmed. She looked around. To her luck, it had been ransacked. Completely hollowed out of resources. Starved and dismal.

“Fucking…” Clementine swore under her breath, the crackle of life simmering in her glare. The newborn beast within her eyes shivered irritably. In her reflection, from a broken mirror shards on the ground, she saw it and tore herself away.

Clementine held A.J closer to her chest in debate. It _was_ warmer inside, however sour her luck. That she could admit. And empty of _people—_ the last thing she could ever want. Clementine strode into the back, finding some blankets scattered across the floor. It didn't take long for the two to be huddled within those blankets, resting silently.

If only the thoughts Clementine had were as serene. Instead, warfare plagued her consciousness. White noise fogged the beginnings and ends of her thoughts. She felt simply hollow.

A.J coughed and mumbled vowels. Clementine rocked him, and she cooed gently, a mantra, “We'll be okay, A.J, we'll be okay.” At least, that's what she hoped. “Just go to sleep for now, okay? We need rest.” As she heard the wind pick up outside, she knew that was all they could do.

“W-We’ll be okay… We’ll be okay.”

**— — — — — — — —**

The wheels of the train clacked along its rails in rhythmic beats, accompanied by the engine's hum. Clementine sat at the mouth of the train car, her legs dangling off the edge. She watched the ground blitz by as she fiddled with the edge of her white-stained dress. Clementine grimaced. It was yellow, at that point. Her mother would be extremely disappointed in her—

No. Not...anymore. Her mother was _dead_. Clementine skewed her eyes shut, erasing her face—both healthy and rotted—to save herself from the dismal ache in her chest. And when she blinked them open, all Clementine saw were dead, hollow moons for eyes, and the corroded flesh that rotted her mother’s color away.

She turned to the creaks of the wooden floor panels, and then smiled gingerly as a shadow of great stature stepped to her. His grin was comforting. Within a minute, Lee sat beside her. They remained quiet for a while as Clementine rubbed her ears. “You loved this train, didn't you?”

Clementine nodded, the persistent ringing of her ears slowly fading away. “Yeah. I never rode on a train before this one.”

Lee nodded. He stretched before wrapping his arm around Clementine's shoulder. It was soothing, feeling his arm around her. Clementine’s dad was a loving man, but never too physical. It was a rare thing.

She nestled against Lee. The little girl was glad that, in one way or another, she was able to feel a father’s embrace for a time after hell escaped amongst the living.

“I remember you said that,” he hummed. “Did you ever get tired of it?”

Clementine shook her head. “No. I want to go back here. With you.”

“I understand, sweet pea,” he murmured. “A lot has happened since I left, hasn't there?” She nodded. Tears welled.

Both of them watched the scenery as it stampeded by. Lee rubbed Clementine's back calmly, humming to himself a tune he didn't quite know. Clementine began to tremble, coughing on the sobs that had developed in only a matter of a second. She clutched her face, her elbows digging into her thighs. Lee's coffee-colored eyes looked down in concern. Clementine had grown since her time wearing the white dress; now, she wore dark jeans and a blue jacket with what used to be vibrant colors, soon dulled from its time with the walking dead. His gaze settled on her baseball cap, following the splatter of blood along the side. _His_ splatter of blood.

Lee didn't pause. He continued to soothe her with his gentle hand on her back. “What's wrong, sweet pea?”

Her voice crackled into broken shards: “Le-ee...” Clementine sniffed and looked up at him. “W-Why can't people j-just live...? Li-ike how we used to. I-I don't want people to die. I-I don’t want them to fight each other. I-I just want p-people to listen and b-be…h-happy… N-Not die a-and kill each o-other…”

“Oh, Clementine...” Lee felt her collapse further into his side as he fixed his hand on her shoulder. “Death...never was rare. It was just... We were sheltered from it.” Clementine sobbed against his shirt. “I'm sorry you have to see so much.”

“Ken-ny didn't have to die... He— He c-could still be alive. And Jane... And...and...” Clementine whimpered, unable to add on.

Lee gazed at his side sadly. “I know... I know sweet pea. The world... It isn't right.”

“No... No, y-you don't understand w-what I'm saying...” Clementine looked into his eyes. “I— I let him ki— Kill her. I— I was so afraid and...and I let him.”

“Sweet pea—”

“I killed him,” Clementine sobbed. “I— I saw what he had done. I saw what Kenny had done. I— I looked into his eyes, and I... I killed him.” She cried, clinging to Lee. Her only support. The only other person she wanted by her side. “I didn't even...th-think. I couldn't con— I c-couldn’t control myself.”

Lee closed his eyes with grief, mourning his friend—mourning a daughter, in a way. Mourning her childhood, and the scrap of innocence she had. Lee felt it, how shattered it was, only one shrapnel of a child's naivety left behind. The _only_ piece that would ferment with age, solely dependent on the number of years she lived. “Clementine... I'm so sorry.”

“L-Lee...?”

“Yes, sweet pea?”

Clementine didn't speak for a few minutes. Her ears strained, listening to the distant babble of a baby. “Lee...? Do you... Do you still love me? Even though I... I...”

“Of course I do, Clementine. I understand what you're going through,” he said. “You're not a monster. You're human. And my father, when I was your age, my pops said to me that being human isn't in the things you do, it's in the things you feel.”

“F-Feel...?”

The rattling of the train grew more distant, despite being right underneath her palms. “Yes. And you feel human, even after doing a terrible, terrible thing.” Clementine looked up, and her brows furrowed in confusion. “It's okay. It's okay...”

“Lee?”

“Just live, Clementine. Just live...”

Lee's voice faded away, melting into giggles, and stewing into bellows of thunder. Clementine mumbled incoherent words as she sat up, her eyes gliding around the small shack. She flattened her blue jacket, which was fashioned into a vest—sleeves ripped off—once it grew tight around her shoulders. She unzipped it just enough to release the restrictiveness at the middle of her back. It was still getting too small, like her pants and shoes.

A.J, who also outgrew his clothes (or, well, blanket), was wearing a long blue shirt tied in the middle, allowing his small, chunky legs to poke through. He smiled at her, holding his toes as he rocked himself playfully. “Hey A.J, keeping an eye on the storm out there?” she croaked, still groggy. He babbled once again, then crawled to her side. She picked him up and cradled him, brushing off some droplets of rain from his hair. Clementine narrowed her eyes where the rain leaked through; in the garden shed's roof was a large, though thin crack that splintered across the walls. It was the best shelter she could manage, and even then…

Her eyes dropped down to A.J's as he stared up at her. He patted her cheek with his chubby hand and giggled. Clementine laughed at his smile. A clap of lightening briefly shook the two, its light stabbing through the slivers of the shed's wood. A.J gave a worried cry before Clementine rocked him, murmuring, “It's okay. It's just lightening.” Still, she kept her eyes on the door, half-expecting something worse.

Clementine waited for another moment. Her skin prickled, and her breath fogged when she exhaled. Fuck. It was going to hail. She chewed the inside of her cheek, and her blazing eyes crept along the shed’s wood. That thing wasn’t going to last the night. Or it was, but they’d be the last to use it. And—

A.J's laugh was muffled, drawing Clementine's attention. “Hey! Don't chew on that!” She pulled the collar tip of her jacket-vest out of his mouth. She moved around, eyes scanning. “Where's that... Oh, right.” She scowled. “It's gone.” With the rest of the many things she had gathered for A.J to play with; if only that _stupid_ walker didn’t slip and take all the toys down the stream with it. She eyed A.J as he teethed her collar again. With a sigh, Clementine relented, allowing him to continue.

After all, he was the only good thing in this damn world, wasn't he? The only beacon of hope in her life. Regardless of hail. Never mind useless shelters.

Clementine pursed her lips in thought. Was she ever the same for Lee?

“Lee...” she whispered, her eyes landing on the handgun left beside her, leaning against her grey backpack. _He was wrong,_ she had countlessly told herself. She may have been human, but she was still, very much, a monster.

Clementine knew one thing: monsters didn't have to be rotting to be so.

**[5 Months Later]**

It was like trudging through the first ring of hell getting into the damn ranch house. The barn had nothing. The fields were sodden and wet. All of the earth around the house was just mud, which clung onto her ankles without mercy. Inside the house, three. Fucking. Walkers. In the living room. Upstairs. _Each._

But the walkers were particularly moronic, being that they were only her size. A band of kids, she assumed. Unless they were all really tiny adults…

With a promise of resources.

In the last bedroom, Clementine scavenged through another cardboard box as A.J giggled beside her. “Don't worry, I'm trying to find something for you. There's just nothing here.” And, boy, he did need it. He had outgrown the small pajama pants she found (which ripped and was lost to another stupid walker only days prior), leaving him in only the blue shirt.

She scowled. There was only junk. “Shit,” she hissed, kicking the box. Clementine switched her attention to a small trunk underneath the bed and tugged at it. With some grunts and pants, Clementine managed to heave the trunk into the center of the bedroom. Once it was open, a smile managed to break free. “Finally!” she said, pulling out a bag of chips. Clementine opened it and took out one chip; as she chewed, Clementine eyed the label curiously. “Vinegar...and sea salt… It tastes fine.”

She scooted towards A.J and held out a chip twice the size of hers. “Here, A.J, you need to eat.” A.J's eyes grew wide as he reached for it. Clementine handed it to him, and chuckled as he sloppily ate it with pleasure. His face squeezed itself after a few seconds. “Do you not like it?” He licked his lips and whined a few syllables, reaching for the bag. “Okay, here you go,” she said, taking a small handle for herself. A.J squealed and indulged, crumbs littering his cheeks.

Clementine ate her chips with far more manners as she looted through the trunk. “There's so much stuff here!” she told A.J excitedly. One by one, she took out the loot: a blanket, two bottles of water, a half-filled bag of jerky, shoes, a pair of small overalls, a bandanna, and a flask. First, she compared the shoes to her own, which had been feeling tight for the last few months. They were bigger in comparison, so Clementine tried them on; her feet didn't slip or slide in them, though her toes weren't crammed at the point. Satisfied, she replaced her muddy shoes with the new ones, and set the old pair to the side. Next, she folded the blanket and slipped it into her backpack, followed by the water and jerky.

She held the flask and hesitated. Slowly, Clementine shook it. There was water in it. She twisted the cap open and peered inside. Frowning, she grew unconvinced. “ _Is_ that water...?” It certainly didn’t smell like it. With nothing much on the line (unless it was poisoned, though she doubted it was), and her curiosity abound, Clementine took a sip. “Ack!” She coughed into her arm. “Ugh... That's _not_ water,” she informed A.J, who paused in his meal to stare at her in concern. Clementine licked her lips. It wasn't... _terrible._ She held her stomach. It made her warm without a blanket. And the taste, it wasn’t great, but she could manage.

With care, she closed the flask and dropped it into the bag. And then Clementine swallowed. She wanted another sip. Her hand hovered over the bag, though Clementine paused and shook her head.

“Okay, A.J, let's give you some new clothes.” She looked at the overalls. “These might fit you.” A.J hiccupped. He raised both hands, grabbing the air for Clementine. She grimaced and cleaned his hands of chip-muck with the bandanna before carrying him. Clementine patted his back, strolling to the bed. He burped in between hiccups. “You stay here, and I'll put these on you,” she said, setting him on the bare mattress. A.J replied with noise.

Clementine worked with him for several minutes, tugging the clothing on. He laughed as she fastened the buttons, sniffing with a long strand of snot flowing down his nose. “Ew, _A.J_. _”_ Clementine grabbed the bandanna and cleaned his face. Figuring that the bandanna proved itself helpful— _several_ times—, she tied it around his neck.

Clementine watched him, analyzing his new clothes. The overalls were big on him, but she was sure he'd grow into them soon enough. “You look like a little farmer,” she hummed, marching in place playfully. A.J giggled, swinging his arms to mirror her.

A gunshot tore through the moment.

Panicked, Clementine faced the door. It sounded several pastures away from the ranch house, but its echo didn't sit well with her. She darted towards her bag, zipped it, and snatched her handgun from the floor. A.J babbled as he wobbled his way off the bed, landing on his hind with a thud. He grumbled, staggering on his legs a few paces before toppling to his knees. “A.J! I said stay on the bed!” Clementine gasped, swooping him into her arms.

She whisked herself towards the window, and ducked to the side with A.J crying softly against her shoulder. “It'll be okay, A.J...” Clementine looked out of the window, careful of being seen. There were three dark figures amongst the fields of dead crops and fruitful weeds. They moved too swiftly to be dead—especially in that sludge of dirt and muck. “Shit, shit,” she hissed, briskly jogging out of the bedroom door and over the last walker she killed.

Within a minute, Clementine left the house as the men walked in from the other side—right into the couch she’d overturned. She and A.J disappeared into the trees, almost sprawled in the mud after a handful of slips. Clementine didn't look back as she hopped over logs and meandered around entangled roots. Her curiosity bloomed, however.

Once a good distance away, _that_ was when she glanced back at the house. Nothing. They weren't by the windows facing her. Clementine gulped. She didn't know if they had been following her, or if their near misses were coincidences.

Her gut told her otherwise. Startling herself by catching sight of people, multiple times, in a single day was enough to raise alarm alone. But that single day was several ago, and the men were still behind her.

Clementine swallowed and slipped away, frazzled and desperate to get more distance between them. Several roads away.

Once the baby mewled softly, Clementine whispered, "It's okay, A.J, it's okay. We're going to find a new place away from here. It's okay, it's okay..."

**— — — — — — — —**

After a few hours of walking, Clementine was thankful of the new shoes she found. A.J slept soundly against the crook of her neck.

At a small intersection, Clementine found herself looking both ways, feet planted right in the center; it wasn't _exactly_ how her mother taught it, but there were rarely any functioning cars anymore. To the left, Clementine saw a gas station. The only building with all four sturdy walls and one functioning roof around. In other words: the only building not _completely_ built out of wood. She walked towards it, careful of any walkers, and men for the matter. While there were stragglers of the undead in the distance, she knew they wouldn't be any danger to her for quite a while—if they ignored the station, anyway.

Stepping inside, she looked around. The tables were toppled over for some sort of cover, and bullet holes riddled them from corner to corner. She eyed the few bodies that never turned. With a wince, Clementine decided that she was glad to have avoided the shootout by however many _days_ had passed; though, even if the apocalypse had tarnished her sense of smell, she tried not to inhale the death too much.

Clementine continued to quietly look around. There were walkers as well, put to rest a while before she came by. She ducked through the counter's gate.

Completely looted.

“Great...”

Even so, she poked her head into the back room and found another door. Satisfied with the area cleared, Clementine moved back to the front and set her bag down. A.J stirred, and she wrapped the blanket around him. After she set him down beside her, his head on a torn cushion from one of the chairs (blood, bone, guts and dirt dusted off), Clementine rubbed her shoulders.

She shivered. With A.J bundled in the only blanket, Clementine was left frigid. Her arms were kept to her biceps, and her eyes wandered. They landed on her bag. She was drawn back to a lonely brick shed, with bottles and bottles abound. A man tired in the back, tossing the empty ones before they shared her first sip. Then it was her family gathered around a fire underneath a powerline. Passing a bottle around (which skipped her, somehow). The warmth of the air. Their calming grins. A family, and the man...long since dead. And she couldn't bring them back, Clementine knew.

Clementine swallowed and held her forehead. The urge for that second sip of the flask never left her. Her mouth watered, and she licked her lips. That first sip warmed her. It reminded her that there was something inside her _to_ warm. It bled the hollow pain away that never left her. The snow that continuously sliced her skin. The ghost of gunfire that screamed in her ears…

She frowned, then decided.

Hands searched through the bag eagerly. Clementine pulled out the flask and rested against the wall. All within the next minute. She stared long and hard at it. The drink inside was tempting. _“I can be your friend,”_ it promised. _“I can make you warm, for the night.”_

Clementine worked her jaw in thought. She unscrewed the cap carefully, now almost wary of it. Uncertain, Clementine licked the inside of the top. The tip of her tongue prickled, and her mouth watered. She gulped. She sipped just enough to taste it. The urge to cough forced her to gag. But, as Clementine noted, she was warm again. The pain, it was leeched away ounce by ounce. Another sip. She managed to control her cough and swallow it with the rest of the booze. More of the pain unraveled itself, and Clementine could feel herself forgetting every ache.

Another sip.

Another sip.

A gulp.

Another gulp.

Another gulp for everything to drain away and leave her at peace.

**— — — — — — — —**

Clementine groaned as she blinked awake. She frowned, noticing the blanket laid across her hip and thigh. “A.J?” she muttered. “Is that you?” Towards the window, A.J cried out in glee as he stood on the chair he'd climbed onto. Clementine wiped her eyes and stretched; it had been a while since she slept so soundly. She picked up the flask and shook it. Gone. With a sigh, Clementine tucked it back into the bag to be filled later. A.J babbled again. She looked up. “What is it, A.J?”

“Ah...” he said, jabbing his finger on the window. “Ah...”

Pulling the blanket off, Clementine crawled towards the window, then poked her head up just enough to see. She narrowed her eyes. “What... _No!”_ She was quick to peel A.J away from the window. “It's them again, A.J! We need to get out of here!” She roughly packed the blanket into the bag and rushed to zip it. She didn’t care if the zipper snagged the blanket, with the damn backpack closed, she hauled it over her shoulder. Words snapped, Clementine said, “Come on, we need to move!” With A.J swept into her arms, her urgent words were more for herself than the toddler. She opened the counter's gate swiftly, and, as quietly as she could, Clementine bolted towards the back door in the other room. She jerked the handle, which wouldn't budge. “Come on, come on, come _on!”_ Clementine rushed. “We need to leave!”

A.J screamed, pulling her eyes towards the narrow window in the door. Her heart plummeted. She hissed a breath: “No...!”

A man stood, leering within the narrow glass. His one eye that wasn't covered in a bloody bandage widened, and his grin exposed his gnarly teeth. “THEY'RE IN HERE!” Clementine scampered away, towards the front door. She swerved around the counter.

But to no avail.

A blond man charged through the front door, and his long arms reached for them. He snagged the bag, to which Clementine promptly writhed out of, her hold iron-tight around A.J. She hurled herself away from both men, smacking into the same wall she had her generous sleep against. A.J wailed as the blond man snatched him.

“No! NO! LET HIM GO!” Clementine screamed. Her shoes squeaked and scampered against the floor as she continued to grapple A.J’s waist. “FUCKING— LET HIM GO!”

“QUIET!”

The man with one eye backhanded her, and the force alone tore her grasp from A.J. Another man stormed into the room. As Clementine blinked the disorientating blur from her eyes, all she could note was the third man’s pale skin that blended with his grey eyes and white hair—a ghost.

A.J bawled, tears washing down his puffy cheeks as he snatched the air for her. “Let. Him. Go!” Clementine detested, wrenching herself up from the wall.

The one-eyed man scowled, and he shook his head. His leather shoes booted her stomach, forcing her to cough and curl around herself. A large hand tugged the collar of her shirt. Her feet barely scraped the ground. “You will listen to _me_ now,” he seethed quietly, which was far more sinister than his bellowing yell.

“I won't! Give me back A.J!”

The man only snarled. Instead of an answer, the horrible man followed the other two, dragging her out of the gas station without care. She could barely step properly, leaving her to flounder and gag against the tightened collar of her vest.

With a sneer, Clementine kicked his knee. The man jolted. “You little _bitch!”_ He threw her against a large dumpster, and the clatter of the impact rang in her ears more than any gunfire had. She grasped her head with the man watching—in _amusement._ Clementine swore she was going to vomit. She swore that the man was the devil. The little girl stumbled over her own feet, the world a haze, before plummeting back to the asphalt.

Her vision grew unfocused until there was nothing to see.

**— — — — — — — —**

“GET UP, RIGHT NOW!”

Clementine jerked away with a gasp, inhaling so sharply that it sliced her lungs. She coughed and blinked rapidly, screwing her eyes tight with a blinding pointed at her. “I'm awake! I'm awake!” she cried. The flashlight was torn away from her, allowing Clementine to adjust to the candle-lit room. She looked around, her heart throbbing against her chest. She was on a worn couch that smelt of all things horrible. Familiar, but nothing less than revolting. A knife on the nightstand beside her, the edge of the metal rusted with blood. Several duffel bags, empty, on the kitchen table down the hall.

But no baby. “

Where's A.J?!” She moved across the couch to look around. “Where's A—”

The man with the blind eye—bandage removed to reveal a sagged crater with a grey orb—whirled around and punched the wall in a fury. “What did I fucking say?! _DON'T MOVE!”_

“Jesus, Daron,” the other man—with blond hair—said. “Chill out. What is she going to do, step on your shoe?”

“I don't want her getting the wrong impression,” Daron snapped.

The blond man simpered. “Yeah, like she's actually going to hurt us. She's just a kid! You can chill the fuck out.” He turned towards Clementine. “And the boy's fine, if that's what you're asking. He's just in the barn.” The two men glared at each other before the blond walked outside, hands tossing and door slamming.

Daron breathed deeply, glaring out the window. “I swear…” His head jerked towards her, completely startling Clementine. She thought that even the sagged, blind eye saw right through her. “Just a kid… On her own?!”

Clementine immediately knew what he was getting at. Even so, she forced her brows down and said, slowly, “…yes.”

Daron shook his head. He spat a gruff hum. “Now,” he muttered pointedly, barely able to maintain his composure as he settled into the chair facing her, “do you know why you're here?”

“No,” Clementine answered bluntly. “You've been following _me_ for days,” she added in a hiss.

Daron gave a chopped laugh, unamused. “Now you _better_ listen here. And _do not_ lie to me again—”

“I'm not lying!”

“You brat, I said _listen!”_ Clementine thought it wise to keep quiet for the meantime. By the way his teeth snapped and nose wrinkled, she suspected Daron wasn’t above killing children. Or anything that would be easy for him… She narrowed her eyes and watched him. Clementine knew _exactly_ what kind of man Daron was: not one at all, but a monster. A filthy, fucking, monster. She heard it in every word he spoke: “You, little shit, _stole_ supplies and let one of our horses escape! What do you have to say to that?!”

“I didn't—do—it,” she answered through gritted teeth. “You got the wrong girl.”

“Really?” Daron huffed sourly. “Not a lot of little girls running around here. You're from that camp up in Pebble Creek, aren't you?!”

“I don't even know where that is!” Clementine shifted on the couch as he leaned closer with a sneer. “You have the wrong girl, I'm telling you! Now let me go with A.J—!”

She yelped as his open hand plummeted down on her cheek, sending her straight from the couch to the hard, splintering floor. On the way down, Clementine smacked against the nightstand with a clatter, and brought the oil lamp down with her. The impact was malicious to the point the flame of its candle was whiffed out immediately.

She groaned, and the beast in her eyes blinked in front of her. The knife, hidden in the shadows, was inches from her nose. Ever so tempting. Ever so beckoning.

Daron was a monster…but he knew not of the way the fire in her eyes crackled along the blade’s hilt.

The monster got to his feet and spat on the ground. His voice was low and grueling: “Now pick yourself up ,and we'll try that again.”

Clementine didn't think. Instead, she catapulted herself within an instant—barely enough time for his one eye to even blink.

She grabbed the knife and swerved to her side. Before Daron could blink a second time, the rusted knife sunk deep into the crook of his ankle. He screamed, and immediately he tugged her away. Daron's agony only multiplied as Clementine held onto the knife with her teeth bared, and she worked the knife to completely slit his foot open through the shoe. It cut through a toe once she was finally yanked away by his monstrous hands. He collapsed, clutching his leg as she staggered to her feet.

His snarl came from his gut: “OH NO YOU DON'T, YOU LITTLE BITCH!”

She bellowed angrily as his hand clenched down on her foal-like leg, attempting to snap it. Instead of fighting against the force, Clementine hurled herself onto Daron, knife at hand. With everything a blur, Clementine was soon on the ground with a sore jaw. Daron's hands went to her neck, his teeth bare and eye rabid. She scratched his wrists, kicking and choking on her own screams. Her arms flailed as she reached under the couch for the knife.

Her vision became dotty. And yet...she was warm. A buzz drove her. The buzz, it thundered within her blood, directing every bone in her body. And the beast in her eyes rejoiced. It twitched an curdled within itself, growing horns and fangs and wings.

Clementine's fingers slipped on the knife's hilt. Her other hand dug into his wrist. As her festering confusion and writhing anger fueled her, her nails burrowed into his skin. Clementine glared into his eye once Daron winced, squinting down at the beast—whatever the monstrosity of her own was.

Her fingers wrapped around the hilt. Clementine spat a broken snarl of her own.

Clementine clumsily whipped the knife out and punctured his seeing eye. The monster howled in pain, his grip around her neck loosening. Clementine gasped for air, and this time, the sharpness of her breath was welcomed. With no time to lose, the knife sunk deeper into his skull. Daron gagged. From his mouth, his blood sprayed, pattering Clementine’s skin with a dark red. His breath gurgled, and his grey eye rolled.

As he fell on top of her, Clementine grunted. The hilt of the knife crushed her sternum.

After a minute of kneeing and punching him off, Clementine snatched the pistol from the small of his back and charged towards the door. Her hand rested on the doorframe as she struggled to retain her breathing.

White noise—the same that she didn’t realize ever consume her—began to seep away. She was left to her thoughts as they all suddenly swarmed to the brinks of her skull. The past few minutes were heavy on her shoulders, urging her to look behind. Clementine did. She found a dead monster lying beside the couch in a pool of his own blood, mouth gaping and face obliterated.

Clementine choked on a broke whimper, tearing herself away from the sight. Away from the atrocity she committed.

Five months. She counted with each and every night, regardless of sleep. It had been only five months since the muted snow that whipped and stung her flesh. Five months where she couldn't retain herself from claiming another life. It was. Too. Easy.

Clementine gasped, managing her tremors. So. Very. _Easy._ She hissed and dug her palm into her burning eyes. “F-Fuck…” she whimpered, her watery stare back to the couch.

It shouldn’t have been…but it was.

Her stare hardened, and the scales of her heart reinforced itself with a seething hatred. Clementine tightened her jaw. _The monster deserved it,_ she decided. _He fucking deserved it._

Swallowing the last of her tears, Clementine glared out the door. Through its narrow window, she saw the barn, and the shadows of a man and a baby. The lines of her face warped themselves into the convulsing vat of writhing hatred.

For the first time in five months, she signed her name to a contract. A contract of a thirst, to numb the mass of thoughts in her head. A contract of a beast, one that sought to grow and prosper. A contract of an inferno in her eyes, which her parents had desperately tried to drill in her head to avoid.

It should have scared her how composed Clementine was, and how the buzz coaxed her ease; how quickly she accepted it, the beast and its malevolent thirst. Even so, she pushed through the door, and her eyes were set on the barn. The buzz throbbed along her body. Its hum continued to course through her thoughts. She was hungry for the flask, wherever it was, and the drink that would soon refill it, something to wash away the tension that would return once the buzz left her.

The grip around the knife solidified, and her knuckles around the knife tightened. She steadily marched towards the wide doors where the light of a lantern flickered. As she drew closer, Clementine heard the wails of A.J and the gritty hisses of foul language from the third man. The ghost.

She stalked behind him and aimed the gun. Pure hatred itched her chest as she sneered. “Let us go,” Clementine commanded, her voice uneven.

The man froze, and sat up from the footstool he was on. “What the fuck is Daron doing letting her—” As he turned around, his eyes widened. The ghost man found a little girl, pistol in one hand and a knife in the other, with fresh blood painted on her face. Her eyes were unnaturally steady on him.

“Let. Us. Go.” Clementine became gradually restless. Her hand began to tremble on the gun—not to drop it, but to jerk her trigger finger.

The ghost man was stunned by the hellfire in her eyes. She was no child. She _couldn't_ have been. Those golden eyes were blaring, blinding him of the pistol raised at his head. There was a long moment of a dreadful silence. There was no need to ask what happened to Daron.

Those eyes of hellfire said everything.

How much of a miscalculation it was to catch the girl.

How much of a mistake it was to have the one-eyed monster interrogate her.

Her face was pulled into a violent sneer, jaw clenched and eyes livid. The crack of the bullet and his skull was the last thing he heard, and Clementine darting away towards the hysterical baby was the last thing he ever saw.

He was dead before he hit the ground.


	2. Episode 2: Dragon's Breath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [First Draft] January 8th, 2020  
> [Second Draft, First Edit] April 4th, 2020  
> [Final Draft, Second Edit] November 28th, 2020  
> [Final Edit] January 31st, 2021
> 
> [27,109 words]

_"Whoever fights monsters_   
_should see to it that in that process_   
_he does not become a monster..."_

_~Friedrich Nietzsche_

* * *

**[1 1/2 Years Later]**

Stealing the medicine she was promised was the only thing Clementine knew that would save his life. Especially since in that camp, in the middle of the woods, there was _nothing else._

It really shouldn't have surprised her that, in a matter of minutes, she'd be surrounded. Her eyes darted across the group of people. Several large men with guns. Ava, who crossed her arms and fiercely watched Clementine, disappointment seared in her eyes. Dr. Lingard, who was still very hungover from his high.

And David. The one who promised that he'd do anything in his power to help her. Now?

The fire of their camp surrounded by the tents and soldiers. _David's._ Soldiers. All of whom glaring at the little girl who didn't know a thing. The little girl that got in the way. The little girl that wielded a sharp tongue. The little girl that they reminded her as much. But Clementine, having lost all sense of a childhood long ago, begged to differ: "You can't be doing this! A.J needed that medicine! He would've died!"

"You just cost us another man!" David snapped back. "Down the road, one of us gets hurt, what's going to help the people who are _capable_ of helping?!"

The doctor stepped in. He held out his hand gently, with the same energy as some fucking _martyr._ "And in any case, Clementine," he drawled languidly, "that one syringe isn't going to do much. It's just going to buy him some time. That's it."

"It was a waste."

"'A was—'" Clementine scowled. "No! I would do it again if I had to! You can't sit there and tell me it was a waste because— Hey! _Hey!_ LET GO OF HIM!" The baby was torn from her grasp. "You... You can't fuckin—!"

"You know what we do to those who betray us," David snarled. "You know what must be done. You're not welcome here any longer."

Clementine clenched her fist and hissed, "Fine. _Fine_. I don't need you anyway. Just give me back—"

David blocked her. "No. You alone." Clementine stammered, unable to get a complete sentence out.

She looked to Ava for help. Somewhat guiltily, David's right-hand woman obliged: "Come on, David. Just, just let her say goodbye."

Clementine locked her jaw. The fury, she swallowed it down and sighed. Slowly, Clementine walked towards A.J and cupped his cheek. "A.J..." she whispered, pecking his forehead, "be good while I'm gone, okay?" A.J whined and grasped the air for her.

Clementine turned herself away, guided by David into the woods. She didn’t turn back around to look at her little boy. Clementine knew she’d do something out of her desperation if she did. Something that the buzz in her system would enjoy. Something that the weight latched on her hip would fuel.

At a clearing, some distance from the circle of people who gradually disbanded, A.J's cries still pierced through the air. David said, jaw firm as he ignored the baby, "We will make sure he won't suffer, Clementine."

"Fuck you..." she whined.

" _Clementine."_

Clementine sneered, twisting around. Her tone hardened itself, reinforcing the whine into a snarl: "Fuck. _You_. _"_ She thrusted her hand towards the camp. "He would have made it if you had given him medication _sooner!_ You said I could be your fucking runner for a few nights!"

"We needed that—"

"IT'S BEEN WEEKS!" she bellowed.

"Do _not_ yell at me! I'm the reason why you were welcomed here!"

Clementine shook her head with a livid grin. "No. _No,_ Ava was. Not you." A scowl. "Bastard." She turned away, knife in one hand and a maroon, leather-clad flask in the other. Her shoulder began to ache at the thought of—

Alvin Junior. He— He was dead. There wasn’t anything she could do, and now…

Clementine hissed and wiped her eyes, her back to the man—the _monster,_ she decided in that moment—who kept her from A.J’s last moments. A malicious pain ached the scar from the bullet shot a lifetime ago, and white noise began to cloud her consciousness. Her grip tightened around the flask as she unscrewed it, eager for the whiskey that would fizzle the pain away and feed the white noise to consume _everything._

As she drank, David hissed, "I would've stepped in if it weren't for that devil's drink." Like a cobra, Clementine's head darted towards him, and all he saw was her alcoholic venom striking his eyes. David roared, pressing hard against them. "YOU FUCKING BITCH!" His eyes stung a violent red as he glared at her. "AFTER ALL I DID FOR YOU, YOU'RE JUST ANOTHER BRAT?!"

He swung at her blindly, only to receive a drunken clobber to the center of his face. David grunted, pinching the swelling bridge of his nose. "Fuch... You budch!" he gruffly snarled.

Clementine rubbed the raw knuckles in her right hand, which still held the flask tightly. Lowly, she hissed, "You're going to get what's coming to you." Branches snapped and bushes rustled. Urgently, Clementine snapped her head up. Three shadows were brisk emerged from the trees, armed and loaded. Scowling, Clementine started backwards before bolting, and she snaked behind the dark cover of brush as Ava and two men rushed to David's side.

Ava's eyes were wide at the sight of David's face. "The fuck she do now?!" she hissed, gripping the back of her shaved head. "CLEMENTINE! CLEMENTINE, YOU HAVE TO ANSWER TO THIS!" she howled into the trees.

But it was no use.

Ava knew that damn girl wouldn't. Her chest ached for A.J, and Clementine. Her...friend. Her heart plummeted. "God, Clementine... Why can't you ever make things easy...?" Perhaps an ex-friend now. One-sided. Clementine would always be the most stubborn force Ava had ever met—a bull, ox and donkey combined.

As David was supported, flanked by two hefty men who stumbled back towards the camp, Ava was the only one left to linger in the clearing. She watched the trees for a moment, hoping to catch another silhouette. One with a baseball cap.

And of course, there wasn't a chance.

**[1/2 Year Later]**

THUMP! THUMP! THUMP!

There was always a constant buzz that ran through her system. Daily. Nightly. Weekly. Monthly.

She might've not been completely sober, but Clementine felt strong with every breath she took.

THUMP! THUMP! THUMP!

Enough to kick down a maple tree by whacking its trunk—after she accidentally broke the fucking axe.

THUMP! THUMP! THUMP!

With every slam of her boot, the rotting tree trembled.

THUMP! THUMP! THUMP!

"Come _on,"_ Clementine hissed. She spared a glance towards the incoming semi. Its engine’s roar was quite loud by that point, and Clementine swore she could smell the diesel gas from where she was. She had seen the headlights from down the road, around another pass. Which was only a few minutes ago. And she didn’t have a few minutes now.

In short, Clementine had to be quick.

THUMP! THUMP! _THUMP!_

That last kick had been particularly forceful, enough to send a spike of pain up her boot. But it didn’t matter. She had to be _quick._ Much, much quicker. "Come _on!"_

THUMP! THUMP! THU—!

The tree gave way, finally having enough with Clementine's unaccommodating kicks (couldn't a tree corpse just be a tree corpse like those walking-zombie-things?!). And the semi's scream of breaks weren't enough to save itself, just as Clementine schemed.

The truck rammed itself into the tree until it was a wrangled mess. She didn’t know if it was ever a beautiful thing, but from the way the shattered glass littered the road with bent metal and splintered pieces, she knew it wasn’t a good fit now.

"Good fucking job, Clementine," she grouched. "The hell does it take to get a car in one piece?!" she added in a low hiss, jerking the shotgun in her arms in frustration. For a split moment, Clementine considered shooting another few bullets into the already-plundered walker beside her.

A kick sufficed. She glared at the rotted skull that concaved easily underneath her heel.

Regardless, she was glad she didn’t shoot. Clementine ducked down and kept quiet as two men stumbled out of the truck—shaken, but unharmed. She frowned and studied them. One of the men ran up large rocks and turned around at the other's call. And the other (he wore a stained baseball jersey by the looks of it) was bound by his hands, a gun within them pointed at the rocks. A few dreadful seconds went by without gunfire.

Clementine smiled.

Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all…

She crept around her hiding spot and held her shotgun tightly. As the man in the jersey sighed in defeat, having let the other guy go, Clementine held up the barrel to the small of his back. "Fuck..." he muttered. Clementine wondered if he was a wimp. "Yeah, alright," he then added quietly, dropping his weapon.

Clementine decided that this man was a wimp.

"That's good. Now keep your head pointed that way," Clementine snapped. She snatched the free Glock on the ground and pocketed it. "Now don't move, or I will shoot."

"I—"

"Unlike you, I'm not as nice. I wouldn't hesitate. Got it?"

"I— Yes, I surrender, okay?"

Clementine sighed. "I know you have.” _Wimp_. “Couldn't shoot him, could you?" She began to search his small bag.

"He did nothing to me, okay?"

"No, no," she answered lazily, "I get it." Clementine pulled out a protein bar. "You're a good person and all that." Another smile stretched across her lips as she held the first bar of chocolate for the first time in years. Or months. Weeks? No, no—months. It certainly _felt_ like yea—

"Hey, hey, not that!" Clementine snapped her attention back up to him. The man abruptly pleaded, eyes wide and over his shoulder, "Please, it— It's for my niece. It's all she wants whenever we search for things. She loves chocolate more than anything... It's for her!"

_Shit._

Strangers weren't meant to make Clementine feel _guilty_. They were supposed to be quiet, or dead. Or quiet _and_ dead. Begrudgingly, she slot it back into his pocket. "You stay there," she ordered. The man frowned, and his head swiveled to finally get a good look at her.

"You're a kid," he breathed. “And…small.”

She ignored him, and instead Clementine meandered around the truck, looking at the damage she caused. "Shit..." she hissed.

"Wait." The man, who definitely didn't listen to her order and was standing by the hood of the truck beside her, asked, "Were you the one behind the tree?"

"Yeah." Clementine clambered into the truck and found an apple. Immediately, she bit into it, finding nothing else of value. (Though, an apple as fresh as this one was worth the hassle, she concluded.) And, oh _God_ this was a good apple. If she was alone, Clementine would’ve allowed herself to drool all over just for the satisfaction. As she munched, Clementine said, "I was tryin' to stop it."

"Well...you certainly did that."

"Oh, shut up." Clementine stood in front of him and looked straight into his eyes. He grew quiet (finally). The man blinked, rather perplexed by the hazel in her eyes, and Clementine only scowled and shrugged him off. She didn’t care about how the man expected that look—the one of grit and fire—to come from an adult, and not a kid. "Anyway, looks like we're done here. So go close your eyes and count to a hundred—"

"Wait no! Please, my family's out there. I just need to know where I am," he said, his hands thrusted forward in urgency. "We were driving down the 522 and went to this junkyard. We were attacked, and they're still there!"

Clementine watched him thoughtfully. "You...drove?"

"Uh, yes, in our van."

This might actually work out for her. She ate the last of the apple and threw the core away, then wiped her mouth. "I know where that is. I can help _if_ you hand over that van in return."

"The..." The man fell silent, debating. He pursed his lips, pulling his soft, flaky beard with them. "Okay, fine, just...as long as they're safe. You have a deal."

She jerked her chin. "This way then." Obediently, he walked forward with Clementine right behind him. For a few minutes, she was able to get some rest from the talking. She lazily held the shotgun in one hand as she fished for her side. With her eyes kept on the weird man, she sipped a little whiskey from the flask, refueling her buzz.

The man stumbled to the side as a walker popped out from the bushes. Casually, Clementine shoved the closed flask into his hands. "Hold that." With a long knife in her tight grasp, she booted the walker in the knee and felt the blade slice into its head. Satisfied, she tucked the knife away and snatched back the flask. He kept walking ahead once she nodded, stashing the drink.

"You're really good at that," he commented, dismissing the flask entirely. Clementine frowned and kept quiet; how was a hostage-turned-bound-wimp-in-need complimenting her anyway? "Fine, you don't want to talk. But can I at least have my gun back?"

"Look. I don't know you. I don't trust you. And I'm _not_ taking any chances."

"What?" The man raised his hands as he shrugged. "Can't I have a little chat...and my gun?"

"No."

"What?!"

Clementine rolled her eyes. "No!"

"What's with you? We can help each other, and I won't shoot. I promise. You don't have to be this lone wolf, you know."

"I've been handling myself pretty well for a while now," she retorted, "so I don't _need_ your help."

The man frowned to himself. "That's not a good life to live. Robbing people? I don't care if there's those _things_ walking around." Clementine worked her jaw. Now she was being chided. _Great._ "But I got that you don't need help. _I'm_ the one who needs it." She felt another guilty itch nestle deep into her chest. He turned his head, barely looking over his shoulder. "And...I'm Javier, by the way. People call me Javi, though."

Shit. _Shit_. She wrestled with herself for a long second. "Clementine," she answered quietly.

Javier seemed almost taken aback. "That's, ah, a cool name, Clementine. It...suits you."

Clementine frowned. "No it doesn't. Now quit trying to kiss ass, I'm not getting you out of that yet—" From around the bend, both heard the groans of dozens of walkers. " _Shit."_

They ducked behind a few bushes by large rocks. She looked over them and groaned. The man, Javier, gave a worried sigh himself. "What? Is that— Oh, no, that's the herd that we ran into earlier."

"Come on." Javier followed Clementine towards the rocks, a temporary safe haven as she scoped out the area. His eyes followed hers, and he found what seemed to be a huge fortress with high walls, and lights—actual, powered, _lights—_ around the edges. To his unasked question, Clementine murmured, "It's Prescott... We're going to have to stay there for a while until it clears out enough."

"I... Dammit." He glared at the gates, clustered with rotting corpses. "The muertos..."

"What?"

"Muertos." Javier looked at Clementine. "What do you call them?"

"Walkers."

"And the ones that run?"

Clementine stared at him, irritated. "They're just fucking walkers, okay?!" He chuckled. " _What?"_

"Nothing." She shook her head and released a long breath. "You haven't talked to another person in a while, have you?"

"...what's that got to do with anything?"

"Oh, you know," he muttered, "it's obvious, especially since I _still-can't-move-my-fuckin'-hands."_ Javier stretched them towards her. "Come on, _please,_ Clementine, I know you have a heart in there somewhere!"

"We just met!"

" _Get me out!"_

Clementine stood up, holding her knife. "I am, okay?! And holy shit, keep your voice down!" With his binds torn away, Javier grinned. Clementine forced his pistol in his hands. "Now come on, we need to move." Javier nodded and followed suit. Their first few strides were careful, yet punctuated. And then, at the foot of the white light, they saw the gate shudder. Clementine lurched forward with springs at her heels. "Get to the gate!" she yelled. Javier sprinted after Clementine, blinking in the bright light. She cleared their path with the spray of her shotgun. As they charged towards the gate, it closed at their feet.

_Fucking. Great._

"Come on, open up!" she bellowed, slamming her fists against the monstrous metal doors.

"Yeah, come on! We're stuck out here!" Javier twisted around, gun poised. He never thought he’d be between muertos and the walls of a _compound—_ a rock and a hard place would’ve been easier, he thought. The muerto he aimed for was shot square in the forehead, and then the one right behind it.

Clementine and Javier looked up briefly once a shadow flickered the white light. "You'll have to clear them off! There's too many, and I can't risk it!" a man shouted down, his shadow surrounded by the blinding haze.

Javier nodded, firing away. Clementine's shotgun howled as she knocked their heads off of their shoulders; Javier was impressed she wasn't flung back by the force of that thing. Meanwhile, Clementine _wasn't_ impressed by its lack of bullets, so she chucked it to the side and pulled out her pistol. She pulled the trigger, and the gun barely spat air at the incoming walker.

_Are. You. Fucking. Kidding. Me?!_

" _Fuck_ , these bullets won't fire!" she hissed, more outraged than panicked.

She grunted as the walker closed in on her, holding its head and shoulders far away from her face. Javier was quick to shoot it in the shoulder, enabling Clementine to send it to the ground and stomp its head in. Both were ecstatic when the gate creaked open behind them, the man firing from inside. He shouted for them to move in the midst of all the gunfire and groans of walkers. Clementine and Javier both rushed inside (not before the former could snatch back the shotgun), being nearly trampled by what turned out to be a rider on a horse (they had only seen a flash of brown).

"God dammit, Francine!" the man snapped. The woman on the horse (most definitely the flash of brown) slowed to a halt and eyed him with a mischievous glint. "One of these days, the gates are going to close, and you'll be on the other side!"

"And when that happens, you're the first one I'm going to bite," she promised with a wave of her hand.

The man shook his head, folding his arms across his broad shoulders. "Anyway, Clementine right?" he asked, turning around. He was intimidating enough with his strong jaw and intense eyes, which had Javier more nervous of _Clementine_ who stood toe-to-toe to the man—as if she was twice his size and not…small. "You stayin' here for long?"

"No," she answered, jerking her chin towards Javier. "I have to drop him off this junkyard. We're leaving once the walkers clear."

"Yeah," Javier said, worry in his voice, "my family’s stuck there with _really_ bad people."

The man looked at him, sympathetic. "I'm sorry to hear that. The herd came in an hour or two ago out of nowhere. I'm thinkin' they might clear by the time it's morning." He unfolded his arms and set his hands on his hips. "I'm Tripp, by the way, and you're all welcome here as long as the two of you stay out of trouble. We're not too gentle with the ones who do."

Javier raised his hands. "I'm not the one you should be worried about."

Clementine rolled her eyes as Tripp turned his attention to her. "You know the score 'round here, Clementine. Don't make me want to pick you up and throw you the fuck out, or I'll pick you up and throw you the fuck out. My boots weigh more than you."

"I got it," Clementine answered.

"Well then, go and do whatever. I got shit to do," Tripp said, leaving their side.

Clementine sighed and looked to Javier. "Well, welcome to Prescott." As the secondary gates opened, they strolled through. "It's actually a cool place—built on an air strip I think." And indeed it was. Everywhere Javier looked, there were soft lights hung around, metal sheets and wood fashioned into small buildings, and towering structures that he assumed were used before the days of the muertos. "The people though...not so much." Javier's eyes wandered, catching sight of many shrouded figures who lurked in the shadows. He shivered. Though as Javier heard the gate close, he turned around. Clementine watched him softly. "Um...what's wrong, Javi?"

"Oh...it's just... My family. They're still out there, you know?"

She shifted in place somewhat guiltily; it wasn't like she _knew_ how to approach this. "W-Well, I mean, if they survived for this long, they know how to keep themselves safe, right?"

"Yeah, I hope so."

Clementine stood while Javier slowly turned back around, his eyes kept to the dirt. "How about a drink, then? There's a bar, and I need to see someone in there about some bullets anyway," she offered, the last fraction of her sentence low.

Javier nodded and followed. Like the majority of the other buildings, it was fashioned from an aircraft—this one a carrier, by the size of it. Or one of the ones pilots used for fuel during flight. And, immediately, when he set foot in the bar, Javier felt himself go back in time. "Whoa... I haven't been in a place like this since...before everything."

"Yeah, it's usually quiet whenever I do some business here. I usually don't stay in Prescott for long, though."

Javier and Clementine both rested their arms against the bar, bathed in the multi-colored lights that hung around, releasing a sigh in unison. They took a shot from the small platter between them (marked with a _Free!_ sign posted in the middle by a wooden stick). "For not dying?"

Clementine paused, having almost drained it. She nodded, and their glasses clinked. The pair mirrored one another, wolfing the shot down for all it was worth. Both grimaced—Clementine's expression being far more animated. Javier laughed softly as she set the shot glass down and wheezed, pushing away from the bar and coughing to the floor. "Yeah," he murmured, "that's not water there."

Clementine half-heartedly glared at him, her arms still stretched between her shoulders and the counter. "I know... It was disgusting. That's it."

" _Sure,"_ Javier teased.

Heartful chuckles came from the side. Both turned to the bar tender who held a handful of cards over the counter with the woman from before—Francine, he believed; instead of the youthful jeer she wore at the gate, Francine was wearing a concentrated furrowed brow as she stared at her hand. "Yeah, there's a reason why they're all grape, Clementine," he said, leaning against his palm casually. "It's supposed to be _pest_ repellant."

Clementine rolled her eyes lazily and sipped on her flask before stashing it away, out of sight. "Yeah, whatever," she mumbled, waving her hand dismissively. Clementine stood upright and said to Javier, "Enjoy making new friends. I have something to do."

As she left his side, the bar tender continued: "Yeah, she actually handles her drink well, I tell you. Hell, Clementine even has an eye for them."

Javier looked over his shoulder towards where he heard clips of her voice with another man. From what he could tell, they didn't sound like friends. "So...the flask?"

The bar tender shrugged. "Oh, it's filled with something. I don't know what it is," he said. "I wouldn't be surprised if it gave her the short fuse she has."

Javier grumbled to himself quietly: "'Definitely not water,' huh."

Francine hissed, eyes narrowed at the cards she held. "Yeah," she agreed pointedly, "most of the drinks here are either made—they're...not that great to be honest."

"It's a process," the bar tender said with a shrug.

"You can say that all you want, Conrad, but they ain't ever gonna be good."

"Oh shut your mouth and just play your hand already."

Ignoring him, she continued and said, " _Anyway_ , she sometimes gathers supplies to trade with us here, and I swear, she would be a damn good resource for the booze here if she didn't drink it all."

Javier—who, by this point, very much so understood that Clementine _definitely_ knew what vodka was before drinking it—was surprised; "How? She can't be much older than my nephew! He barely knows anything about the stuff." Then again, Gabe knew far more about weed than any alcohol. Javier didn't mention that. The couple (and Javier assumed so based on the look they shared) shrugged. "How much does she drink, exactly?"

"For all we know," Conrad said, "you talk to her, and she might not be completely sober."

"La hostia..." Javier jumped slightly as the woman elbowed him.

"Hey," Francine whispered, "what do you think?" She showed him the cards. "Think I should raise?"

"Good lord, Francine! First you take ten minutes debating on one move, and now you're asking for help?!" Conrad asked with a gleeful smile. He was going to win, for sure.

Javier shook his head. "I'm sorry, I don't gamble anymore..."

Francine hummed as Conrad watched him carefully. "Now, I thought I recognized you. Javier García, am I right? I'm sorry about that lifetime ban. Overkill for having a little fun. Shouldn't have ruined your twenty-year career."

Javier shifted uncomfortably. "Yeah...I mean..." He shrugged. "It's not like that shit matters anymore."

"You got that right."

Francine smiled to herself and giggled. The two men rose a brow. "Well then, I think you're bullshitting. Put down your cards." Begrudgingly, he did with hers set on the table.

"God dammit," he grumbled as Francine cheered. "I'm gonna run out of business at this rate!"

"Oh like anybody cares about money anymore," she laughed. "And besides, Clementine and I are the most business you got."

In the distance, a voice rose: "Don't turn away from me, I'm talking to you!"

"Speaking of the devil," Francine murmured.

"Ah shit." Javier muttered, "I'll be back."

He found them within a small, cozy room inside what looked like a small plane's shell. As he walked over, Javier heard more of the argument: "Look, missy. A deal is a deal, alright? You gave me batteries, and I gave you bullets. Simple as that."

"What's going on here?" Javier asked, looking between Clementine and the balding man in a velvet armchair.

Clementine’s glare pointed at the man was one of ferocity. Her fists clenched. " _He_ ripped me off! I traded him perfectly good batteries for bullets that won't fire! He could have gotten us _killed!"_

Javier folded his arms and narrowed his eyes. The man continued to lounge. His eyes drawled towards Javier. "What, you her body-guard or some shit?"

As an answer, he shrugged and said, "She doesn't really need one."

"Come on, just give me what I'm owed!"

"Look, I already told you, it's a no."

He went silent once Clementine pulled out her gun. "Whoa, Clem... Take it easy."

"Look at him, he's not even nervous!" Clementine snapped. The man blinked and sighed, leaned against his palm. She pulled the trigger; once again, the gun failed. The man stared at her, now _definitely_ nervous. He swallowed as beads of sweat began to pool across his glossy head. "He knows they don't fire!"

The man huffed, through with her.

He got to his feet. In his hands, a long blade that caught the dim light violently. No time passed; immediately, Javier stepped in between the both of them, arm across Clementine’s neck and hand against the man’s chest. Once the flash of metal slit his brow, he grunted through the abrupt pain. Javier blinked. His temple stung, and blood dripped down his face. _Both_ of his hands were on the man. The two battled for the edge. Teeth snapped and lips sneered through the near-silent dispute. Javier, though, ultimately won. The knife was dropped to the floor, and the man kept himself to his chair with a tremor.

Clementine hissed, breaking the forceful silence, "Now give me what I'm owed!"

"I-I'll give you batteries, okay? Just...we were all out of line. Alright? We—" Clementine stepped forward, her pistol pointed towards his gut. His eyes widened. "Would you take control of her?! You got to put a handle on that, man!" the man pleaded desperately, eyes to Javier.

Javier shook his head and crossed his arms. He definitely felt the sting above his eye, and the blood dripping was now a waterfall. "I'm not her body-guard, I've already told you!"

The man turned back to Clementine. "Please, I'll give you batteries. New— _Real_ new! Okay?!" he begged again.

"No! I don't need batteries, I need bullets that won't get me kill—!" The blast that Clementine earlier wished for rang in her ears. She blinked, stunned, at the man in the chair. His eyes were lolled backwards, a crater in his forehead erupting blood. "Oh no... No, no, no..." she whispered. Clementine whipped around as the bar went silent. So much for a quiet dispute. "Javi, he attacked us, okay?! He pulled out his knife and—"

"What the hell are you doin'—" Conrad's eyes nearly bulged out of his head at the sight of the man. He raised his rifle. "Now what the _fuck_ y'all doin'?!"

"He attacked us, okay?! It was in self-defense!" Clementine said quickly.

Her throat closed as heavy boots stomped through the bar and around the corner. "Now what the fuck are you shooting a gun when there's a herd out—" His eyes followed the small crowd's stare. "What the fuck happened here?!"

"He attacked us, reached for his gun and—!"

"Enough from you!" Tripp interrupted. His eyes met Javier's. "Is this true?"

Javier, without missing a beat, answered, "Yes, do you see my eye man?! He was a fuckin' maniac!"

Clementine looked at him, surprised.

Tripp looked at him, annoyed. He crossed his arms and stared at the two for a long, livid minute. “Couldn’t last an hour, could you?” he stewed. “Well now…we’ll see what _I’ll_ do.”

**— — — — — — — —**

Tripp walked away, leaving Javier and Clementine jailed within the small cage. On the side of the dirt road that ran through Prescott. Out with the creepy people in the shadows along the way. Where the lights were the best (probably to keep an eye on them). …and the cage that Clementine had slept in once or twice before; it was a miracle, honestly, that she’d been allowed back in after the fourth time.

With his hands on his hips, Javier looked around. "Hey...it's not _that_ bad. Still got a roof over our heads if it rains."

Clementine, who sat down in the corner, eyed the chicken-wire for walls. "And if it floods?" Javier didn't answer. She held her arms, cross-legged, and thought. Eyes of hellfire flicked to the man—who she decided wasn’t so much of a wimp after all—and felt another surge of guilt. "But...thanks for covering for me. That was, uh, really cool of you."

Javier sat on the small bench inside the cage. "No problem. We're a team, right?"

She chuckled quietly. "Yeah...thanks. But, I really do hope you know that doesn't make us friends."

Javier drew his eyes to the ground, somewhat disappointed. They were quickly torn towards the door once a woman stepped in. He was momentarily in awe by her beauty, noting her dough eyes and beauty mark on her cheek. And Clementine was left to stare too, just for a moment. Like she’d done the many, many times she saw the woman. Eleanor…

Eleanor shook her head with a polite smile. "Why is it that the pretty ones are always the ones who get in trouble?" That fucking voice. Clementine scowled, and she turned her gaze to the floor.

Javier smirked and shrugged. "I dunno. Takes one to know one."

The woman smiled, her eyes sliding towards Clementine. In the corner, she held her flask, unscrewing it. Eyes of hellfire lifted, and Clementine’s scowl deepened into a sly, cynical smirk. "What, you gonna tell me I'm pretty too?"

With a straight face, Eleanor answered, "No, Clementine."

" _Okay_ , Eleanor."

As she got out her cleaning supplies, she said, "Well, as you can probably tell, I'm Eleanor. You can call me Elle, though."

"Oh? I'm Javi then," he said with a grin. Javier winced as she cleaned his wound—which was why she was there, no? Instead of just being…pretty? "So you're the doc around here?"

"Of sorts," Eleanor answered. "I'm not an official one, but I'm the closest thing to it around here." She began to patch him up, setting the alcohol down. "What brings _you_ here? Never seen your face around before now."

Javier's grin faltered. "My family. We were attacked, and I got separated. Ran into Clementine over there and, well, the rest is history."

"Oh, god. I know how it's like with family," she murmured solemnly. "I wish I can do more."

"You're already doing all of this for me. It's fine, honest."

She smiled. "For you, maybe."

" _Blech."_

Eleanor closed her eyes and exhaled, then scowled. Clementine, having sipped on her flask, said with a shit-eating grin, "Oh, I'm sorry. There was something disgusting in my whiskey—"

"Just let the adults talk, sweetie."

"—and it was you."

Eleanor was irked, to say the least. She ignored Clementine as she snorted herself into a laugh. "Sometimes I don't understand that girl... You know?"

"Well...I only met her today? She's..." Javier's shoulders hugged his neck. "Not bad."

Shaking her head, Eleanor murmured, "I don't know. There's something in her eyes that I don't like..." She thought for a moment. "Some say she killed Eli in cold blood. Did she?"

Javier sighed. "No. Things just...got out of hand. She was trying to prove a point and things got messy, I got stabbed. And Eli..."

"Got shot right in the head." Eleanor stood up with a frown. "Right. But...with your family, if there's anything—"

"You're fine, Elle. You don't need to trouble yourself."

She bowed her head once she strode out, side-stepping around the cage as Tripp marched his way over. "Hey, I see you got that checked out."

"Yeah."

Clementine got to her feet and leaned up against the side. He eyed the two of them through the chicken-wire. "Now I've decided that you two shit-bags are going to stay in there until the morning. I have a truck, and we can leave to get your folks." He pointed at Clementine. "And _you_ out."

"Really? Thanks," Javier said graciously.

Tripp nodded. Eleanor piped up: "I'll go."

"No, you're staying right here!" Tripp snapped quickly.

"What?! You can't just let me stay! They might need medical attention, Tripp!"

"And I don't want you hurt again!"

Eleanor crossed her arms. "That's not your call to make!"

Tripp threw his arms up. "You're not coming! End of story!" He swiveled his attention back to the cage. "And you're spending the night here!"

He stormed away, leaving Eleanor to stare at the ground, brows furrowed. "God, he can be an ass. But...” She exhaled softly. “He does care though, you know? About the people here?" Eleanor chewed her lip, and an idea blossomed. "Hey, there might be a way we can get you...two—” her dough eyes narrowed against those of hellfire, which glared back in turn— “…out of here sooner. From the back."

"Right now?" Javier asked eagerly.

"We'd be away from the walkers by the front," she said.

"But...the rest of the herd. The muertos."

Eleanor's lips formed a gentle smile as she backed away. "I have to take care of a few patients, but let me know if you want to soon, okay?"

Both prisoners watched Eleanor as she walked through Prescott to the other side of the road. And, incidentally, both of their gazes dropped lower, lingering underneath Eleanor's belt before she was completely out of sight. "Wow... She's... She's really somethin'," Javier murmured.

"I didn't know she had it in her," Clementine said. She turned away with a scowl, her cheeks dusted with a subtle, warm pink. With her eyes on Javier, she added, "But listen, Javi. I trust Tripp more than her. I don't think we should take that offer."

Javier nodded slowly. "Yeah. With all those muertos around, it'd be better to have more brawn."

Clementine settled on the bench, stretching across it. "Right. At least you're reasonable."

Javier sat down beside her designated bed, rubbing his temple. He leaned back and yawned, "You know something, Clementine?"

"And what's that?"

"I think you're a...a trustworthy—" he yawned again— "person."

She suddenly felt small and powerless. "Oh..." Clementine swallowed. "Thanks." Javier didn't answer, dozing away already. Clementine laid on the bench, eyes down to the ground and hands folded under her head. Her thoughts spun and tangled.

In cold blood... In _cold_ blood...

Clementine may never be caught a minute sober anymore, and her head never as clear as it ought to be, but she knew well enough how uneasy that sat with her. _In cold blood…_ she mouthed.

 _It’s just too easy._ Clementine startled herself, and she rolled to her side. She didn’t have to think about it. She didn’t have to. There would be a time to drink it away. Just like any other horrible thing.

**— — — — — — — —**

“Shhh… Shhh… It’s okay, A.J. It’s okay…”

In that shed, surrounded by the groans of the dead—clicking and clacking---, Clementine held A.J close. His choked cries quieted, and she smiled. “There we go,” she breathed as she sat him down on a fold-out bed. “Now…”

A.J gave a cry out of surprise and slapped his hands over his mouth, his wide eyes to the door, and Clementine turned around to follow them. The walkers were swarming to the other side. She frowned, and her skin prickled. There was someone out—

A silhouette startled the pair as it reached the door. “Son of a bitch!” a woman snapped, jiggling the door handle.

“…dammit,” Clementine hissed under her breath, her hand clasped around her Glock’s handle. “Stay quiet, A.J,” she whispered with a hand held out. A.J only whimpered.

“Hey! I can hear you in there!” Clementine, frazzled, watched A.J as he coughed, hands hovering over his mouth. “C-Can you help me please?! _God,_ there’s so many!”

Clementine’s attention swiveled back and forth, and her grip tightened around the pistol’s handle.

“Please!” The woman grunted as she heaved her weight into the door—the boards across its frame already broken, and the lock weak. “Don’t leave me out here!” Clementine stood erect once the door was slammed open, then back closed within a panicked motion.

Immediately, Clementine guarded A.J, her pistol aimed and ready to put a bullet through the woman’s shaved head—into the deep scar that ran across the cranium, if she could manage.

The woman’s eyes widened, and she hissed, rather tiredly, “Oh, shit…” She swallowed, and managed, “Hey there.”

Clementine narrowed her eyes and grumbled, from over the pistol, “…hello.”

The door shuddered, though the pistol didn’t leave the woman’s head. “Look, you can keep that thing pointed at me if it makes you feel any better, but if you shoot me, you’ll have to deal with all of _them!”_

Clementine reconsidered. It _was_ a reasonable point.

She growled and shunted the gun back in its holster, and then darted to the woman’s side. Together, they threw their weight into the door. As they battled for the edge against the walkers, who continuously rattled the thing off its hinges, the woman quickly twisted around and snatched the side of a bookshelf. “Alright! Get out of the way!” she said, throwing her head from the door.

Clementine backed off, and the bookshelf was turned over with a slam. They watched the door for a moment, then released a sigh of relief in unison. As Clementine strode back to A.J, who was whimpering and reaching for her, the woman collapsed onto the pile of blankets and pillows that was heaped on the other side.

“You and I make a great team,” the woman breathed. She lifted her head and noticed A.J. “Well, the three of us, I mean.”

Clementine blinked. “Uh, thanks…I guess.”

“No problem, kiddo,” the woman mused. “If you ever need an over-sized doorstop, you know who to call. Or, well, _find.”_ Clementine gave the barest nod. “He’s a pretty cute kid… So you two live in here? Seem pretty young to be a mom. What are you, thirteen?”

 _Why so many damn questions?_ Clementine sighed as the woman got up and strode over. “I didn’t give _birth_ to him, if that’s what you mean. And why do you care?”

“Look I—” She exhaled softly and rested on her knee. “I didn’t mean to pry…” The woman paused, then explained, “We were out there scouting—nothing out of the ordinary, and then—” She shook her head, and Clementine arched a brow. “O-Out of the ordinary, and then— Chaos and— _Shit.”_ She scratched her head and traced the deep scar along her head. The woman started again, almost flustered by her tic: “Those bastards are slow, but God dammit, when there’s enough of them…”

That, Clementine could agree with. Not that she actually said anything.

“I got separated from the others. … _God,_ I hope they all made it. Thought we were ready for anything, but we were surrounded before we saw them.”

Clementine, who waved off her emotional curiosity, asked, “What were you searching for anyway?”

“Gas, water… Any supplies we can find, really. We’re runners—or, well, I’m a bit higher up, though this was new territory…so…” The woman scowled. “Sure as well wasn’t worth it today.” She got to her feet and said, “My people are probably at the rendezvous by now—or what’s left of them, at least.” Clementine mirrored her, with A.J in her arms.

The woman turned around with a gentle grin hitched, and she said, “Oh, and I’m Ava, by the way. And my group, —” she pulled up her sleeve, and on her wrist was a branded, red sigil— “we call ourselves the New Frontier.” The amount of pride in her voice almost made Clementine want to puke. Not out of disgust, really, but from a lurch of buried emotion at the pit of her stomach.

Before Clementine could brush her off quietly, A.J sputtered and began to cry. She frowned and turned away. “He’s hungry…” Clementine said, brushing this Ava off _with_ words.

Ava, however, seemed to brighten. “Hey, why don’t you come with me? Meet my people?” Clementine watched her from over her shoulder. “We have food, blankets, bottled water…” Ava assured. Clementine stared, crouched beside the bed with A.J coughing and sniffing. “C’mon,” Ava said, her voice (admittedly) a comfort, “dinner’s on me. I owe you one.”

Clementine grimaced, and she slowly stood up. An old pain struck her then. Along her shoulder and down her back. Every ounce of her chest. She grumbled, albeit apologetic, “Groups…really aren’t my thing.”

“’No woman’s an island,’” Ava said with a light grin.

 _Oh…my god._ Clementine rolled her eyes. _How can you make an apocalypse_ awkward?

Ava laughed, however, and shrugged. “Have it your way… You did me a solid here, and I won’t forget it the next time we cross paths.”

“There is no ‘next time,’” Clementine scowled.

“We’ll see,” Ava hummed. “The world _does_ work in mysterious ways.” She wandered back to the blankets and rested herself against the wall while Clementine to A.J’s side. Clementine watched Ava suspiciously, chewing the inside of her cheek.

For her sake, she hoped the world wasn’t _that_ mysterious…

_And what the hell does woman island none mean anyway?!_

**— — — — — — — —**

"So, in five then?"

Javier watched Tripp as the man stared into the cage, eyes on the bench. Tripp exhaled, arms folded. "Make that ten," he grumbled. "Has she stirred or...anything?"

"No, she's been out," Javier answered.

"Well, you better get her up, or I'm just going to have her lay on the hood until we get there."

As Tripp walked away dutifully, Javier went back to what he had been doing before: punching Clementine's arm. "Come on, dormilona, get _up."_ She didn't move. And now that he thought of it, the only reason why Javier knew she wasn't dead was the fact she hadn't turned. "Come on. mija, let's go." He slapped her cheek and quickly backed away, grimacing for the impact. He didn't feel anything. Javier opened one eye. He slacked his raised arms.

Nothing.

"Clementine, it's..." Javier paused. She did move. Her eyebrows twitched to a frown, then further deepened with fear and discomfort. Javier couldn't understand the words she slurred, her body trembling. "...dormilona? Clem?"

The tremors were becoming more exaggerated, and Javier didn't know what do to. "N-No..." she whispered.

"You have to. We're leaving soon, Clementine," he replied, not exactly confident if Clementine was anywhere close to being conscious.

"L-Lee... Lee, I can't do this..." He froze. Javier saw the beads of cold sweat along the edge of her hairline. "Not... Not again..."

Something terrible swam in Javier's gut. He didn't know what he was a witness to, but he sure as hell knew that this wasn't his to see. "Clementine," he murmured softly, "we...have to move." Comfortingly, he put his hand on her shoulder and rubbed.

Her eyes snapped open.

Javier was slammed against the cage without warning, her knife pointed at his Adam's apple. He barely felt the blade tremble against his throat while Clementine controlled her breathing—or, rather, tried to. Javier stared into her eyes in shock. What he saw were the cracks of her sobriety within drunken hellfire. Her breath was shaken: "Oh my god." Clementine stumbled backwards, dropping the knife onto the ground, slacked on the bench.

Her hand grasped her hip, and soon the contents of the flask was inhaled. Her sip was triple the amount of the usual; if Clementine had any sleep the night prior, the first hit of whiskey was always the most.

And as he remained frozen against the chicken wire, Javier saw a reflection of his younger self. From the way she sat on the bench, alone, to her hand on her forehead and the drink in the other. Slowly, he asked, "Were you...?"

"I just... When I sleep, I get these memor— _Dreams,_ I get these dreams that..."

Javier didn't call her out on her lie. Instead, he sat beside her. The tension in her body uncoiled when he did, allowing Clementine to slip the flask away. "Tripp is going to come get us in a few minutes."

Clementine nodded, breathing in. The youthful fire Javier came to know replaced her broken tone: "He better. I want my shit back."

**— — — — — — — —**

"For the fifth-fucking-time, I'm not giving you back that shotgun!"

Clementine, who sat in the back of the truck, sputtered an attempt of a retort. She exhaled shortly and folded her arms. Bitingly, she managed, "But that wasn't even the one that—!"

"Yeah! You have that pistol for _surviving!_ You're lucky I even gave you back that _murder_ weapon! Now fucking pipe your ass down so I don't have to hear you talk the rest of the way there!" From the back seat, Clementine grumbled to herself and flipped him off.

Tripp clenched his jaw as Javier laughed. "Well, you _did_ tell her to be quiet."

"Whatever." Tripp kept his eyes to the road, and the lines of his face relaxed. "Now I know that I offered to do this, and all, but you mind explainin' why Eleanor vouched for you two shits? Well…you more than Clementine, anyway—"

“She can _suck_ my ass!”

“I told you to _shut the fuck up, shithead!”_

Through his amusement, Javier shrugged. "She's a good person. And I'm not complaining either way."

Tripp nodded, steering his eyes from the rearview mirror where—once again—he caught sight of an angry little devil; he swore even _with_ her opinions, Eleanor still cared more about the little shit with her baseball cap than he’d ever manage. He thought for a moment, having just reminded himself the reason why Clementine stuck around: "Yeah, she's got a heart of gold. Big reason why she's real good as our nurse." _…and keeping little shits around._ Speaking of, the back of his truck was a hell of a lot quieter. His blue eyes returned to the rearview mirror. "Clementine, there a problem with your hand?"

She hoisted her gaze up, surprised. "Oh," Clementine muttered, rubbing the end of a nub for a finger. "It's nothing."

Javier turned around and asked, "When did that happen?"

"A while ago." Clementine wiggled it, and she still imagined the finger whole again. "It broke, and I couldn't realign it so...I cut it off."

"Jesus," Tripp breathed. "Who knew you were such a hard-ass?" He turned around the bend. "Now are we there yet?"

"Yeah, are we?"

Clementine nodded. "It's right— Shit."

Tripp eased the truck to a halt and stared at the junkyard with wide eyes. "Where's that smoke coming from?"

"I don't know. It wasn't there yesterday," Javier said, worried pained with each syllable. "Come on!"

They barely felt the ground as they wrenched themselves from the truck, leaving the doors wide open. Clementine could smell the gasoline from the other side of the junkyard’s gates.

"Mariana?! Gabriel?! Kate?!" Javier halted at the entrance.

"What the hell...?" Tripp breathed, prodding a dead walker with his boot.

"There's dozens of them," Clementine said, analyzing the scattered bodies of rotting corpses. Some stacked. Some recently dismembered. Others just shot dead.

Javier spotted something in the rubble beside the last muerto still groaning. He picked up a tool from the ground and bashed it against its head. Once satisfied that the thing was dealt with, Javier picked up an MP3 player. "This is Mariana's..." He jogged through the gates, followed by Tripp and Clementine. "Mariana? Are you here?"

"Javi!"

Delight sprang across his face. Javier turned to the left and embraced his niece as she hopped into his arms, seemingly materialized out of thin air. "I hid in the bus like you said! Once the muertos didn't notice me, they just forgot and passed by!"

"I'm so glad you're safe!" he said joyfully. "You did exactly what I told you to do." Mariana grinned, and her eyes briefly switched to Tripp and Clementine. Javier followed her gaze. "They came to help us," he assured with a gesture.

"Thank-you!" Mariana said. Tripp nodded while Clementine murmured quietly.

Javier got to his feet, once again worried. "Where is Kate and Gabe?"

Mariana shook her head, her smile wiped clean. "I don't know. We got separated. I think they might be in the van." Javier briskly walked forward around a corner, and immediately his shoulders slacked.

"Oh...no." He turned to Clementine apologetically. At the sight of the van with its smoking engine, she sighed. Beaten. Smoldered. In a similar shape as the semi—though not quite as mangled. At the very least, they knew what was the source of the fire, and what gasoline was burning. "The van..."

"It's fine. It's not like you knew it was going to happen," she muttered with the additional, "but we still have that deal."

"Yeah, right."

Clementine waved her hand. "That's not important right now. You have other people out here, right?" Javier bobbed his head and began his search. The four of them strode behind him, eyes wide and alert.

Mariana walked beside Clementine, sharing a smile. All at once, Clementine felt terrible knowing she was about to steal her chocolate. She was nice to look at, especially with the smile across her face—of a rare sort. A gem. "Hey.” Clementine blinked and turned back to her. Mariana grinned innocently, dimples creasing her cheeks. A very, very rare gem. “You have really pretty eyes."

 _God dammit._ Clementine felt a rush of warmth like she never had before. Embarrassment was one thing, though this...? Was this because she hadn't talked to people in so long? "Oh, um...thank-you." Clementine's blush spread, a fire scorching the middle of her back. "You...um... You're pretty."

"Thanks," Mariana chirped. Clementine glanced at her again, now feeling like _shit_ knowing she was about to steal her chocolate. And giddy. Strangely, Mariana's compliment burrowed itself in her chest, erupting giddy tremors to her stomach. Clementine didn't know if she liked it or not.

A horn interrupted her train of thought. Mariana brightened. "That’s them, Uncle Javi!"

"We're just going to have to see," he said. "Come on. And stay _behind_ me."

"Okay."

Mariana didn't disobey. She remained protected behind Javier and Tripp, and her gaze continued to wander towards Clementine (and her gun) as she kept beside her. Once again, they shared a smile, Clementine feeling her cheeks grow warmer. She felt all-powerful. Like she could chuck her flask away. Kill a herd of walkers. Rule the world, even.

Or, well, a settlement.

"Oh great," Clementine sighed. In unison, Tripp, Javier and Clementine handled the small gathering of walkers as they continued to relentlessly attack the doors of a semi. And inside, the source of the honking, were two people. From what Clementine could tell, a woman in plaid, and a boy around her age with a beanie. The walkers were quickly dealt with, and thus the two trapped in the truck were able to scramble out.

Clementine stepped to the side with Tripp as the siblings embraced each other. Meanwhile, the woman—Kate, Clementine assumed---and Javier shared a deep, abrupt kiss. She spared her glance and turned it to the ground.

"Ech," Mariana groaned.

"Oh I think we're entitled to that," Javier murmured as Mariana shook her head softly.

The woman looked at Clementine, curious. "Who's...this girl with the gun? And the knife?"

Javier smiled happily. "Clementine, she's...my friend."

Clementine felt small again. And extremely powerless. "Oh, um...hi."

"Hi." The woman grinned. "I'm Kate, and this is Gabe." The boy smiled bashfully, avoiding Clementine's eyes. "And I see you already met Mari."

For a few minutes, they made their acquaintances before Tripp folded his arms and cleared his throat, without an introduction; "Come on, let's head out of here and get back to Prescott," he said. “So that you’ll have some shelter for the time being… And _you_ out.”

Clementine scowled. …maybe she could bribe Eleanor a bit. It _did,_ kind of, work that one time—before she robbed those other people. Her chest lurched when Mariana eyed her, rather inquisitive than anything. Clementine tore her gaze away and started to walk.

"I'm definitely not going to say otherwise," Javier replied, very much relieved. Reunited with his family, Javier beamed and strode alongside Tripp.

Meanwhile, Clementine continued down the side, distancing herself. She was glad, however, when Mariana joined her. "So what's your name? Clementine?"

"Yup." Why did she feel so dumb? It _was_ an honest answer!

Mariana grinned. "That's pretty too!"

"Oh, and...so's yours."

Clementine turned away briefly to overhear Javier: "Don't jinx it. Let's just get back to Prescott, and then we'll celebrate."

"Well, there are things to cheer about, you know?"

Clementine slowed to a halt once she saw the entrance of the junkyard.

Something didn't sit well. Her skin prickled, and her eyes searched instinctively. Another feeling—far from giddiness—irked her. She swallowed, and Clementine scanned the trees. Javier joined her just as Mariana gasped happily from behind. She darted past them eagerly.

Javier, who watched Clementine with a shared unease, murmured, "What is it?"

"I...don't know—"

"Cool!" Mariana picked up a pair of headphones and turned around. Javier grinned, and he set aside is momentary anxiety to hand her the MP3 player. Her smile grew. "Thanks!"

A shot fired from the trees.

Clementine felt the sinister realization prickle throughout her skin. Mariana's body hit the ground, her face painted mid-shock. The bullets that stormed the air were barely heard. The shouts from the trees across the road were distant. She threw herself into cover, her heart thumping behind her ears. Her eyes were kept on Mariana for a long moment. Especially the hole that didn’t belong in her head. She could almost see through it—to the dirt and rubble underneath the girl.

Then, clarity struck. The white noise scrambled her consciousness.

Eyes of hellfire surged, and Clementine sneered violently, arming her pistol before firing into the trees. One man was forced to the ground by her hand, a bullet through his neck. The family screamed behind her, and she wrenched her attention back. "Fucking _hell,"_ she snarled once she saw Kate on the ground, clutching her side. "Javi, no!"

Javier dove forward in unison with Gabe, shoving Kate out of the line of fire. Clementine shook her head and fired three more shots, two hitting their targets. She ducked to the barrels covering the three. "Oh God, K-Kate!" Gabe gasped, eyes wide and tone hysterically panicked. "We have to get out of here!"

Tripp, who planted himself into the abandoned bus' side, agreed: "Yeah, come on! We have to move it before we're all fuckin' killed!"

Anger boiled Clementine. "No!" She got Javier's attention. "We can stay here and fight! If we leave them, they will come after you again!"

"I've already made up my mind," Javier said. "You go ahead! We'll cover you!"

"Javi!" Gabe snapped. "But you'll—!"

"Don't worry about me, just go!" Javier barked. Clementine nodded in appreciation, firing into the trees once again with her new…friend by her side. With Javier, Clementine was left in the midst of chaos as the rest darted to the truck.

Her buzz fueled the beastly fire in her eyes. It made her stronger. It made her harder to hit. With each minute that blitz by, the more likely it was that her bullets made their mark.

Dead center through the monsters’ eyes. Catapulting through their skulls.

**— — — — — — — —**

The afternoon sun breathed down her neck as she dug. Her ears still rang from the hour prior, the gunfire a distant hum. Clementine, with a final scoop of dirt, gasped, tossing the shovel away. With heavy breaths, she grimly looked at her handiwork. It wasn’t six feet deep, though she doubted anything more than four mattered. If Mariana… She closed her eyes and backed away. If Mariana would be completely covered, that’s what mattered. After a few moments, Clementine breathed deeply and analyzed the hole. It should’ve been long enough too, since she’d measured the best she could—eleven of her steps.

Grim, she looked to the sky and watched the oranges and reds as a flock of birds flew by, disappearing along the horizon. It didn't take long afterwards—when the last of them fluttered away—for her to cross the road and find Javier picking himself up. His hands trembled, and he croaked out a breath. Javier rubbed his forehead, skin paling by the second. "What...happened...?" he asked weakly.

His eyes travelled to Mariana's body. Clementine felt his heart shatter in his gaze. "Oh, Mari..." He crawled towards her, and he brought her into his arms. "Mari...you deserved better than this. You deserved so much better..." Javier turned his head as Clementine stepped behind him.

"I...dug her a grave."

Javier’s eyes watered. "You didn't have to... Thank-you, Clem."

Clementine held her arms and nodded. "It's across the street, by the trees."

He didn't speak. Javier followed Clementine with Mariana carefully held in his arms, just like how he'd used to cradle her when she was far, far younger in a world far, far less cruel. At the dug hole, he stepped inside and placed her down. He crossed her arms, tucking her headset and MP3 player in her hands. Javier then took one final look in her empty eyes, shuddered a breath, and closed them.

He climbed out of Mariana's grave and stood beside Clementine. Her brow tightened as she heard the traces of his shattered grief enveloped within his words: "I'm...so sorry, Mariana. You deserved no right living in a world like this. And, you... You are loved." Javier succumbed to his tears, right into his hand. For several moments, he couldn’t wipe them away. They fell as a constant siege.

And Clementine couldn’t search within herself to find that pain. She knew it was there, lodged deep inside of her, buried underneath the alcohol and her scaly heart. So, she did the most she could and remained silent. Clementine handed him the shovel.

With it, and the last of his tears choked away, Javier went right to work, covering his niece with the fresh soil that had been just unearthed from the dying grass. And before he knew it, before he wanted to finish, Javier was. He set the shovel down carefully, his sorrow slowly replaced by his fury once more. "I'm going to find them for you, Mari. And I'm going to make them pay."

Clementine turned her ear to the groans by an abandoned car. She had heard them before, but they were easy to ignore with each heave of the shovel. "Javi..." She walked to the Sudan, and eyes of hellfire glared at the walker that laid against it. Javier felt his teeth grit, and his hand clasped around his gun. He pointed the pistol at the walker, whose face was far more human than monster. Only the muerto’s skin was grey. It hadn’t yet rotted away, and the eyes were still a crystal white—no yellows or reds or purples. The dead man reached for Javier and its second chance to kill him.

Javier couldn't do it. His arm faltered. His emotions captured him.

He lowered his gun and looked away. Clementine, however, didn't hesitate. Unphased, she executed the walker, and the head pinged off of the car door as the bullet was shot through.

"I'm sorry," Javier breathed. "I couldn't... I couldn't do it. Not with it looking at me like—"

"I know." Clementine kicked the walker out of the way. Its body slumped over, allowing her to open the car door and find the keys still in the ignition. "Hey, they have a car we can take."

"So our deal is up then?"

Clementine scratched the back of her neck, guilt once again itching her. "I...” Clementine watched him, then to the grave. How fractured the man was, and how fresh the mound of dirt shifted in the breeze. Clementine wanted to kick herself—right to the road. Javier wasn’t a wimp, he was just a human. Not a monster. She frowned and folded her arms. But she was. So, with a careful breath, she murmured, “Look, I can drop you back off to Prescott, and then I'm out of here."

"Oh."

She swayed on the balls of her feet. Maybe— Maybe she could _try_ to be human again. "I...um..." Clementine cleared her throat. "I mean...I still want a shotgun so, you know, I'll probably, maybe, have some business there still..."

Javier watched her, his eyes kind. And while his smile was barely one, he wore it and said, "I knew you'd want to stick around for a while."

His small grin was a comfort, as it turned out. "Just for a day or two, okay?" Clementine replied softly. "Then... Then I'm gone."

"Alright." His eyes trailed to the muerto, lingering on... What was that? "Oh, Clementine, there's a mark on this guy's neck...? Do you—"

" _What?"_

Clementine whipped around and walked over. Her eyes landed on the branded sigil. Startled, every fiber in her being urged her to freeze. "Oh _fuck."_

"What is it?!"

If they knew she was there…Mariana’s death—it could’ve been her fault. That sweet girl. Her smile and words. Clementine sighed deeply, reaching to the depths for that buzz. The emotions she was struggling to find minutes earlier, they were swarming. Now tied with guilt, and anger, and worry.

"These people...” Clementine blinked, and she chewed the inside of her cheek. “I know the group they were a part of." Javier's eyes widened. "The New Frontier. Or, at least, that's what they call themselves. I...got stuck at their camp for a while.” She frowned, jaw clenched. “Captured,” Clementine lied quickly, “And, supposedly, they...started off good people but now...there's just corruption."

"What...?! Do you know where they are?!"

"Javi!" Her bark spooked them both. Javier backed off, hands raised, defeated. "I know you want to go after them, but here's the thing: why do you think I want out of this place?!"

"You're running from them?"

"More like avoiding," Clementine said. Avoiding everything that chained her here. The paths. The houses. The streets… Javier stared at the dead walker. "I know how these people are, and now you know too. They aren't good... Once we get to Prescott and Kate is better, you need to leave. With—" She was going to shoot herself in the foot willingly. Maybe Javier was a bad influence, or too good for her. “With or without me.”

He blinked, caught off-guard. But as quick as his surprise came, it left. Javier bobbed his head in agreement. "I... Right, okay. Okay." He opened the car door. "Then...okay, then let's go. I— I don't want to be away from Kate and Gabe for much longer." Clementine climbed in the passenger seat as he started the engine. Javier gripped the wheel tightly and swallowed. His eyes wandered to his side and found Clementine's striking eyes. "So...Prescott?" She nodded. Javier pulled out onto the street.

Together, they watched the road ahead. Together, they silently mourned for Mariana. Together, Clementine and Javier took the spare vehicle and drove to Prescott wordlessly.

**— — — — — — — —**

Once they barged through both sets of gates, Javier and Clementine immediately rushed to Kate's side from Tripp's directions: a hand thrusted towards the clinic while arguing with another man about the herd. At the small clinic fashioned from a plane's hull, Kate was unconscious, hand clasped over her bandaged wound. Javier immediately went to his knees and folded his hands over Kate's free one. She was wrapped around her torso, and he eyed the pink spot where blood had leaked through. "I'm so sorry," he whispered. "I wish I could've done more..." Clementine stood behind him, her hand gentle on his shoulder.

Eleanor came to Javier's side somberly. She didn’t even notice that Clementine was back in Prescott. "She's...stable. All there is for her to do is just rest. I was able to take the bullet out, but...she's bleeding in the inside."

"And that means?"

She tightened her jaw for a moment. "Well, I'm sorry, I don't know what I can do to stop it. I'm afraid it's...only a matter of time."

Javier nodded slowly, his throat tight. "Thanks for trying," he whispered. Eleanor bowed her head, then stepped into the hull. Javier glanced over his shoulder. "You don't need to be here, you know. You've barely met her," he said with a hint of a question.

"Why wouldn't I? You said we're a team, right?" He chuckled quietly and murmured in agreement. "But I can leave you with her."

"Okay. Thank-you."

Clementine broke away, the air around Prescott heavy on her shoulders. She took the flask and raised it to her lips to take the edge off. She passed Gabe—if she remembered correctly; all she knew was that he was Mariana's brother.

He lingered by the clinic, eyes kept to his aunt (mom? She only wondered). To distract himself, he watched Clementine. Gabe swayed on the spot before walking towards her nervously. His voice cracked as he attempted to swallow the solemnness away: "Um...that's water in there, right?"

Clementine blinked, the definitely-not-water drained down her throat. She looked at the flask, then back to Gabe. "Well, you might not want to drink this then."

She walked away, leaving Gabe to stare after her. "Whoa..." So she liked the _cool_ guys. The same _cool_ guys that he remembered on television with their road leathers, aviators and criminal background. He didn't have any of those three (and Gabe would like to think she'd like him to not be a criminal), but he _did_ have a beanie. An orange beanie. Like… Like a carrot. Or an orange. Or— Gabe scowled and reached for it. Beanies were stupid.

Then, on second thought, he'd been wearing beanies without rest for years now. He couldn't begin to imagine what that had done to his hair. He kept the stupid beanie on.

Gabe puffed his chest and followed after her, swallowing the nervous bubble climbing up his throat. "So, um..." he managed once caught up to her. "Do you...come here often?"

"I'm in and out. The only reason I'm staying is because your uncle owes me a ride," she answered flatly.

He deflated. "Really? You’re gonna come with…” Her arched brow killed the last of his question. Gabe frowned. "Oh. Wait, were you going to take our van?!"

Clementine shrugged. "Yeah."

Gabe swiveled his glare towards Javier as he tended to Kate. He scowled, muttering, "Why'd he do that for?"

"We made a deal _between us_. If you want to ask him, go right on ahead."

Gabe—who remembered that his resentment _wasn't_ something ladies liked—waved his hand. "Oh, I'll ask later. There's more important things to do now."

"And what's that?" Clementine asked, leaned against the building.

"Getting to know you...? So—" he cleared his throat— "do you know how to drive?" Clementine nodded. "...legally?"

She chuckled, something Gabe took as a good thing. A sign of his success. "If you're asking if I read the signs on the road at all, no."

"Oh, so you go over the speed limit. I have a secret," he said, leaning in. "Uncle Javi sometimes does that too."

Clementine breathed a laugh, shaking her head. "Does he sometimes have street races with the walkers too?"

"...walkers?"

"Murtos."

"Oh, you mean _muertos?"_

Clementine scoffed. "I just said that."

Gabe snickered, his persona slipping. "No you didn't." Clementine rolled her eyes and took another small sip on her flask. "Anyway, what do you call the ones that run?"

"Oh. My. God. Not _this_ again!" Gabe laughed with Clementine gradually joining. Prescott didn't seem so bad anymore. Not that Clementine wanted to stay, nor that Gabe didn’t want something better, but the air was easier to breathe.

Far, far easier to breathe.

**— — — — — — — —**

Days like these— _especially_ days like these, rather—were ones that reminded Clementine how wrong her parents were. How there would be a time without a god, and that the world they lived in had somehow plummeted right to the Devil’s doorstep.

A few hours of calm. The New Frontier. A couple of bullets. A hostage or two. That was all it took. And, damn it all, when anything detonated at the Devil’s doorstep, things went straight to hell.

That was only a couple of minutes ago. Now, her coughs stung, and her eyes burned. Clementine could barely make out the people running from the dead that stumbled; the only way she knew which heads to aim for were the ones accompanied by that horrid smell.

Carnage was a bitch. It always lurked in the shadows before jumping out at her, forcing Clementine to flee.

She couldn't help but feel that sniping one of the New Frontier _wasn't_ —exactly—a good move. And that one of those couple of bullets was her fault. Clementine had to have been one of death’s angels for how many times the gates of hell followed her. Those instances were, as always, a monster claiming another monster. That’s all it was.

Francine shot dead. A walker herd swarming Prescott. Terrified screams. Lights blinking on and off. Gas that choked every single thing it crossed. All her fault. All of it. She didn’t understand why _nobody_ cared that she’d snuck her way back in town; Clementine _was_ supposed to be out in the herd, after all.

Clementine felt a hand tug at the collar of her shirt, dragging her behind. "Let—! _Me—!_ Go!" she snarled, her words broken with coughs.

"Would you— _Stop_ fighting me?!" Clementine was immediately pleased knowing it was Javier's hand—even if the air was nearly strangled out of her. Together, with Gabe flanking Javier's side, they ran out of Prescott towards what looked to be headlights. She growled as they skirted away.

As they crossed the road, Clementine asked roughly, "Where's...Kate?"

"Eleanor got her with Tripp. They're in the truck, I think."

He waved frantically as _Eleanor_ slipped into a car. "Never mind, I think that was Tripp leaving though!" Eleanor waited for them as their savior—a knight in shining armor (not that Clementine was keen to admit). The lights beamed to life, and the engine roared, guiding the three through the warzone. Clementine took the ounce of luck with gratitude, watching the nurse from the rearview mirror. Begrudgingly, as her lungs cleared, she decided that perhaps…it was something to admit.

**— — — — — — — —**

Clementine only focused on A.J’s light snores, ignoring the walkers and their groaning, and the light tune that Ava—or whatever her name was—hummed. It pained Clementine how much the woman wanted to talk. And she could _feel_ it deep in her bone marrow. And she wanted to hork. And maybe through something at the woman for good measure. It reminded her just how much she hated people. And talking. And humming. And…tunes—the one that the person was humming, anyway.

She just wanted a drink. That’s all Clementine ever wanted while A.J slept. Drink. Pass out. Wake up. Find food. Play with A.J. Wait for him to sleep. Repeat. The last thing she found was during an hour of desperation, and the beer was in a can. And it was vile.

Clementine glowered and shifted her gaze towards Ava. She huffed. Maybe canned beers would’ve been a better find in this shed than a whole person.

“So…have you been on your own for a while?”

 _Dammit._ It’s because she looked, wasn’t it? Clementine frowned. “Maybe.”

“Well,” Ava stretched, getting herself more comfortable along the blankets, “for how long was that, maybe?”

“Um…” Clementine’s frown deepened, and she held her shoulder; even through the shirt, she could still feel the bullet wound underneath her palm. “A while.” She paused and glanced at Ava’s stupid, subtle grin. “Like…one or two years.”

Ava blinked. “I… Damn. That— That—” She shook her head and rubbed her temple. Ava exhaled, and said, “That is ‘a while.’” The woman thought for a moment. “You aren’t from around here then, are you?”

“And how’d you guess that?” Clementine murmured, eyes narrowed.

There was only a shrug. “I know this place? Been here for a while, anyway. Was stationed at Prescott and the base ‘round here before walkers started…well, walking.” Ava scratched the back of her head. “ _And_ I did visit here a couple of times as a kid. You _are_ a kid right?”

“Okay, okay, I _get it._ I’m a little kid. Bite me.”

“A kid with a lotta mouth,” Ava snickered. Clementine’s lack of laughing landed a sigh from Ava. “I’m just tryin’ to lighten the mood. Not much we can do with _these—”_ she gestured out the boarded windows— “still around.” Clementine relented, though she didn’t add to anything. Ava watched her hold A.J as the toddler nestled against the fold-out bed. “Say… I didn’t get your name.”

Clementine scowled, more guiltily than anything. Anytime anyone anywhere asked for her name, it always stung. Such a simple thing, really, but it always struck one of the only soft parts of her shell. “I’m, um…” She hesitated, her eyes drawn to the floor. “Clementine. And this is A.J.”

“A.J?”

“Alvin Junior,” she mumbled. Clementine worked her jaw, and she watched A.J for a moment. “Alvin Rebecca Lee Junior.”

Ava hummed, somewhat amused. “That’s quite a name.”

“I guess.”

“Well, both of yours are,” Ava added.

Clementine tipped the bill of her cap down. “…thanks.” Her mouth was dry. Her throat was sour and knotted. She needed that drink. Now. Clementine held herself, and her eyes searched. Nothing. Absolutely nothing, and it wasn’t a surprise that a shed like this—where many people had probably hidden time and time again—would be that way. No food, or water, or drinks, just blankets and boarded windows with howling walkers outside.

She didn’t raise her attention when Ava sat back up from the pile of blankets and pillows. “Hey,” she asked once A.J had grumbled vowels in his sleep, “does he need one?”

“Uh…” Clementine replied slowly, and she rubbed his shoulder.

“There’s a small one over here. I can take it to you.”

Clementine swallowed. “Oh, um, yeah… That would be nice.” Ava got to her feet with the small green blanket in her hands, and when she strode to the bed, she draped it over A.J gently. And then…she sat on the other corner of the bed instead of back to the blankets. Clementine watched A.J for a moment, who curled into the blanket soundlessly. “Thank-you,” she murmured, quiet.

Ava shrugged. “No problem. He seems like a good kid. And you too.”

Clementine, this time around, sounded more tired than irritated: “You don’t know anything about me.”

“True. But I can tell.” Clementine shook her head silently, and she knew Ava saw from behind. “So…then, if you don’t mind me asking, why _are_ you alone? You couldn’t have been away from a group in the beginning, at least.” Clementine turned further away, and Ava hesitated. “Were you…kicked out?”

“No,” Clementine answered. She wrestled with her words for a moment. “I got them all killed.”

Ava’s gaze was solemn. “I’m sure it all wasn’t your faul—”

“The _last_ one in the _last_ group, I shot a bullet in his head,” Clementine snapped, then forced out, “I got them all killed.” She needed that drink. A whole bottle. “I don’t want to join your New Frontier or whatever. I don’t work with groups, and I hate people.”

“Well…I don’t know about the groups, but,” Ava murmured softly, “I don’t believe you really hate people. You would’ve shot me through the windows instead of protecting A.J if you did—hell, you wouldn’t even have A.J to begin with. …unless you don’t think of him as a person?”

Clementine worked her jaw as she continued to rub A.J’s shoulder. “Of course I do. He’s everything to me. I hate the people that were alive before the Outbreak then.”

“And that includes me and you?”

Whiskey. Now. A whole jug of it. So long as it didn’t poison her and leave A.J to whatever stranger would pass by—dead or alive. “Yes,” she growled tightly.

A.J’s coughs startled the three of them, and he whimpered himself awake. Clementine shushed him sweetly, more to comfort than silence as she rocked him. His eyes were barely open, and he grasped onto her chest.

“Is the little man sick?” Ava asked, concerned.

“I-I don’t know. It started this morning,” Clementine answered quietly.

Ava nodded. “We do have a doctor, you know? And medicine. Most of the stuff’s heavy for infection and things like that, but I’m sure there’d be something that would help.”

“He’s—” Clementine frowned; the offer was now as tempting as ever. “H-He’s okay, right now. He’s had little coughs before…”

The woman behind her breathed quietly, knowing any evasion to join when she heard it. Even so, she pressed: “Look, I know…you don’t want to join. I get it. Not everybody is fit for the New Frontier. But, if you need that doctor, you can come and find me.” Clementine remained quiet as she listened. “I run supplies with a smaller group—the one with the doctor—along the dirt roads around here. We usually go in a ring so that we avoid the walkers.” Ava leaned forward, and she caught the intensity of Clementine’s hazel eyes. “Think about it?”

Clementine watched A.J, who looked up at her with his soft, dough eyes. Ones that always reminded her of Lee. She sighed, then slowly nodded.

“Okay, I’ll think about it. But for nobody else.”

Ava chuckled. “I’m glad.”

**— — — — — — — —**

The two vehicles parked themselves at an intersection, and it jerked Clementine from her light doze. She looked around before clambering out of the car, following Javier. At the center gathered the both of them, Gabe, Tripp, Eleanor and Conrad. Grief and anger consumed them, maintaining a bitter silence in the intersection. Their heads were hung low, eyes to the ground. A mutual lapse of mourning.

Conrad was the first to break it. He scoffed and shook his head. His eyes snapped to Javier. "This is all your fault."

"What?!"

"First, you and Clementine walk right up to my bar—" he stomped forward, fists clenching and livid eyes wild— "Eli winds up shot dead, you're kicked out yet _come back again,_ and with people to shoot up Prescott! Yeah, it's your fucking fault!"

"No, Conrad, calm down!" Javier protested. "You and I both know that those people weren't one of us! _They_ killed Mariana. _They_ killed Francine—"

"Don't you fuckin' speak about my girl in front of me!" he snarled, his gun whipped out.

Tripp stepped in, being the only one other than Clementine not remotely startled by the pistol: "Conrad, please. I know you're not in a good place right now, but we can't be fighting like this out here. We're sitting ducks."

"Listen to him if not me." Javier said, "We've all lost people today. We have to keep a stable group right now. Figure out where we're going."

" _I'm_ not done with this! A whole community's dead, and it isn't any fucking coincidence that it happened the day after you set foot in it!" He slammed his hand into Javier's shoulder, shoving him backwards. "I shouldn't have thought any differently, now should I? You're still that sorry gambler from before aren't you?"

Javier snapped, "Now leave the past where it should be!"

" _Even Prescott?! Even Francine?!"_ Conrad aimed. "You open your mouth again," he hissed, his voice breaking, "and...and I'll shoot."

"Leave him ALONE!"

Everyone jumped, turning towards Gabe. Javier, stricken, shook his head at his nephew who aimed his handgun at Conrad. "Back away from him now!" Gabe snapped. Conrad did so obediently, hands raised.

Javier walked forward. "Gabe...this isn't helping. Just put the gun down, and we'll sort out matters without any shots, okay?" Gabe blinked with a stern brow, jaw clenched. His eyes shifted from Conrad to his uncle.

Slowly, he relaxed and pointed the handgun to the road. "But I swear, if you do it again, I'm not hesitating!" he warned.

"Now Gabe, stop. We don't—!" Gabe sneered and shrugged Javier away. " _Gabe_. _"_

"I just saved your life, and you're disciplining me?!" Javier couldn't get another word out once Gabe stalked away with folded arms. Allowing some time for him to cool off, Javier strolled back to Clementine's side, who watched Gabe with an arched brow.

Conrad collapsed onto the street, setting his weapon down. He cried out, voice weak and shattered, "Oh...Francine." Conrad's gazed lingered towards Tripp. "W-We have to bury her."

Tripp shook his head sadly. "I'm sorry, I really am Conrad. But you know we can't. Prescott is overrun."

"Then where do we go?" Eleanor asked.

"Richmond," Clementine answered. "I heard there's a settlement there. High walls. Food... It sounds secure, more than Prescott was."

"We'll try it. That sounds just what we need," Tripp said.

Leaving the adults to discuss more, Clementine backed away and strode towards Gabe curiously. He turned around once he'd heard her steps. "Oh... Hey Clementine," he muttered lowly.

"Were you going to actually shoot?"

Gabe huffed. "What do you think? He was going to attack and shoot my uncle!"

Clementine crossed her arms. "I already knew the answer before I asked. You weren't going to, were you?"

She left him stunned. Gabe scratched the back of his neck and sighed, dropping his shoulders. "N-No... I wasn't." He tightened his lips. "I don't know what I was going to do..."

"You've never had to shoot anybody, have you? Only walkers?"

"Uh, y-yeah... And you have?" Clementine watched him, her expression remorseful. "Oh," Gabe mumbled, realizing, "yeah, you have. This morning... But, before?"

Clementine shifted, evading the question entirely: "It's not easy, I know. It's good that you stood your ground but...if you're going to make a threat, it can't be an empty one."

Gabe swallowed and nodded dutifully. "Right, right... Okay." He felt more relaxed. "Um, thanks."

She arched a brow. "No...problem...?" Why did talking to her make him feel any better?

A fair distance away, Javier and Eleanor watched their conversation. And they had an idea to Clementine’s question: "Well," Eleanor murmured, "you think they can hit it off?"

Javier frowned and folded his arms. "That's asking for trouble."

"You actually think so?" she asked, oddly impressed. "I thought you liked Clementine. She's your friend or whatever."

"She still is," Javier replied. "But you wouldn't think she's still a kid. She's too old for him, for one."

Eleanor kept her eyes on Clementine for a moment, studying her. "Yeah, if there's one thing I have to admit, it's that... Yeah. I'm probably more afraid of her than most adults."

Javier turned around once Tripp started his truck, waving them over. He called out to Clementine and Gabe, shutting down any socialization: "Come on! Let's get moving!" Clementine jerked her chin before she left for the truck, and Gabe followed close behind.

**— — — — — — — —**

It always struck her as _uneasy_ how quickly things changed.

One day, there'd be a walled fortress built on an airfield, and the next day not. One day, she'd be in the midst of her routine, and the next day caught in a group's antics lead by an ex-baseball player.

It made her feel uneasy—and strange, come to think of it. She sipped on her flask in thought, leaned against an abandoned-store’s wall in the sunlight.

As she waited for Javier to install the hooked wires in a truck to clear out an exit—underneath a bridge at the foot of the strip-mall—, Clementine shook her flask before taking another sip and studied her surroundings. Another gas station across the way. Crates upon crates. Blocked off road underneath the bridge. Weeds. Burning sun. Nothing good.

She took a third sip. With Gabe walking towards her, his eyes on the flask, Clementine asked, "What, do you want some?"

"Oh, no," Gabe said. "I don't drink beer."

Clementine glanced inside the container before closing it. "It's whiskey, but I get it."

Gabe nodded, his hands in his pockets. "So...um...I was thinking, where are your parents? I-I mean...do you have them?" Clementine felt her heart grow heavy. He panicked and sputtered, "I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean to ask that. You don't have to answer..."

"No it's... It's fine." She frowned. "They're dead, and, if I'm honest, I...don't really remember them that well." Clementine avoided his searching gaze. She didn't want his pity.

"Oh, I'm sorry." He gulped and dug his heel in the ground. "I didn't mean—"

He was interrupted by brief cheering and a horrible scream of metal. "He did it!" Clementine breathed, eager to leave the conversation behind. Off to the side, Javier hollered with a pump of his fist; a garage was opened, and the hook of some engineer’s truck (or something, Clementine only knew it had the hook) had pulled away the busted lemon blocking the road. Javier gestured for Eleanor to drive off ahead.

Eleanor tore away in the Sudan with Kate safely tucked in the backseat, passing—

"Oh God, no," Clementine growled, pulling out her knife and pistol. "I think I know why it was blocked off." Walkers. A herd of them swarmed the bridge, and with the racket of Javier’s success, they weren’t happy. She searched around as Gabe staggered to the side, wishing that she'd paid more attention to the area before. On the side of the gas station were large crates stacked and a dumpster. An idea blossomed as gunfire filled the air, the men yelling for cover. "GUYS!" Clementine bellowed urgently. "BESIDE THE STATION, THE CRATES!"

She sprinted forward, popping holes in walkers' heads as she passed them, Gabe at her heel. The rest followed suit in a blind panic. The herd swarmed them, their roars and grunts filling her ears. Clementine clambered up with Gabe, then lingered at the edge of the roof to hoist Conrad to safety.

"Javier!" Gabe shouted. His uncle stumbled into the crates with a groan.

Clementine reached as far as she could. "Come on, Javi! Grab my hand!"

Javier took it quickly and pulled himself up, leeching all of Clementine’s strength with one tug. "Thanks," he panted. "God, I don't know if there's anybody else that could've gotten us out of there _that_ quick."

Clementine shrugged. "Just add it to the pile." Javier rolled his eyes. They joined Conrad, Tripp and Gabe by the end of the roof, tucked away behind billboard signs. The swarms of angered groans still blistered the air. But they were safe. For the meantime. "What now?"

Tripp shook his head. "That truck is long gone," he muttered. "And we can't wait here all day for those things to clear out." He turned to Javier. "What do you think, Javi?"

Javier shushed him.

“W-What the _fuck,_ ma—!”

"There's someone up there...! I just saw him." Tripp sprung before he was yanked back down. "No, I'll go. Just... You all stay quiet."

Clementine frowned as Javier crept across a bridge between the building roofs (made of wood planks), gun at the ready. On the gas station, everybody was silent, ears strained. Clementine heard voices, too far to get any clear words. However, she heard the tones. They weren't exactly friendly, though she couldn't decide if they were hostile.

She moved forward, eyeing the sign that blocked her view of Javier. "What is going _on_ up there?!" she hissed, pulling out her pistol.

Conrad furrowed his brows. "What are you going to do?"

Clementine said, confidently, "I'm going up there. You can follow me or not."

"What?!" he whispered sharply. "He said to stay put!"

"And I just said that I'm going up there!" she spat back. Without giving him a chance to argue, Clementine moved forward. As she reached the other roof, from across the creaking planks of wood, she pulled her pistol on a tall man whose handgun was jutted into Javier's cheek. "Drop it!" she snapped.

The man jerked his head around, surprised. "Oh, well look at— _Gouff!"_ Javier had taken his chance to elbow the man in the stomach and step out of his reach. The rest of the group had quickly crossed over and surrounded the tall man. "Ah...right, I see, I see..." His voice was mellow and calming, though Clementine felt the sense that he knew more than he spoke. It was tangled within his tone and words. "We're all defensive, aren't we?" There was also a humble twang to his voice, something that contrasted with his intimidating frame and robust, black leather trench-coat.

"The hell you doin' here?!" Conrad thrusted the barrel of his shotgun forward. "Were you spying?!"

"No, actually, I was taking a nap when you all woke me up by moving that car," the mysterious man answered. "And now, I'm going to be heading off, so why don't you set those down and we'll go off to our own directions?"

Javier, who seemed just as perplexed of this man as Clementine was, asked, "And...where are you going exactly?"

"Richmond. Lost touch with some good people there."

"Oh," Javier said, the tension uncoiling from his shoulders. "So are we. Two others from our group are headed there now."

"Really...?"

Conrad scowled. "What are you doing telling him everything?!"

Javier gestured him to settle down. "Look, we don't want any trouble. We're just looking for a place to stay."

"Stay...at Richmond?" The man almost winced (nobly, mind) and shook his head apologetically. "Unless you're friends with the New Frontier, I'd worry about them."

Clementine felt her gut plummet. Stricken, she felt tension pool in between her shoulders. She was dead. This was it. And all the others by association, _butchered._

Everybody was shocked—aside from Gabe, who was left confused—, though none of them were as quick to respond as Clementine: "What do you mean?! The New Frontier's in Richmond?!" Her heart hammered and thoughts whirled.

The man’s attention spun around them to catch glimpses of their expressions. "What...you didn't know? They took over months ago."

"Fucking hell," Tripp scowled.

"The...what?"

"You shitting me right now!"

"Guys, who's the—"

Javier tightened his grip around the pistol. "That's... God, Eleanor and Kate are headed right for them!"

"HEY!" Everybody jumped at Gabe's yell. "Finally... Who the hell's the New Frontier? Are they a group?"

"They're the group that attacked us at the junkyard and Prescott," Javier explained quickly. "They're not good." Gabe stared at the end of his firearm, distraught.

Conrad cocked his shotgun. "And who's to say _you_ aren't one of them?"

The man tilted his head and replied, "You've got the wrong idea, there. I'm not. So I'll ask again, you can lower your guns, and I can let you tag along with me for the time being."

"Or maybe we'll just tie you up, and you'll _show_ us the way to get there that way, right?"

"Uh...no, that's not what I said."

"I know that's not what you fucking said. That's what _I_ said!"

Tripp raised his gun as well. "Yeah...how do we know we can trust you? We just met."

Clementine scoffed and immediately lowered her pistol. "We _all_ just met Javi and Gabe."

Javier took the notion and stashed his pistol away. "Come on, I have a feeling we can trust him."

"Thank-you," the man said with a grateful nod.

"Wha—"

"Conrad, please." Conrad grumbled in disapproval but relented nonetheless. Javier turned to the stranger. "So, where to?"

The man pointed above where a raised set of train tracks led, puncturing into the mountain within a tunnel. "I heard those will lead straight to the heart of Richmond, just outside the settlement borders."

"Alright. Come on, everybody." Javier took a few steps forward, then hesitated. "Wait, what's your name again?"

The man stopped and turned around. "Oh, yes, I forgot to introduce myself. My name is Paul," he answered—which Clementine didn't expect from a guy wearing a long leather coat and beanie overtop his full beard, long and straight hair, and broad shoulders. Paul… _Paul…_

"But people call me Jesus." Now that, _that_ was a name she found very suiting.

They all followed Jesus, either curious, baffled or irritated.

And walkers, apparently, loved tunnels. They littered the place in groups no less than three, especially by the mouth of the entrance.

The group charged through them, evading as many as they could. Their gunfire echoed throughout the tunnel in harmony with Jesus' swift and agile attacks; Clementine was impressed. For a man of his stature and build, she didn’t expect his grace. She could only imagine what he was like before the Outbreak. Eventually, the concentration of walkers subsided, leaving them with a long stretch of tunnel.

"It should be 'round this bend up here, to the right," Jesus said, pointing forward. The group murmured to themselves.

Clementine watched Jesus, worry and guilt still a heavy weight in her chest. She strayed behind Gabe, aligned with Javier's steps. They walked together, side-by-side. He glanced to her as Clementine searched for her words. "Is there...anything wrong?"

She swallowed. God damn this man. Clementine shouldn’t have cared as much as she realized she did, and… _Fuck._ "I...need to tell you something. Which, I should've before."

"And you didn't because...?" Clementine nodded forward, gesturing to the group ahead. "Oh."

She inhaled deeply before letting go of her breath in the same manner. "Um...Javi?" Her breath shook, and Clementine felt her chest lurch. She was wrenched back to the many times in her parent’s kitchen, right before her mom with hands on her hips. Hazel eyes piercing the girl, waiting.

Clementine stopped in her tracks.

Javier did as well, keeping his attention on her with earnest. "Yeah?"

"I wasn't completely honest before. About the New Frontier," she whispered. He nodded slowly as she rolled up her sleeve.

His kind eyes widened. Even in the dark, Javier saw it. "Fucking... _Y-You_ are one of them?" he whispered sharply.

Clementine jerked her sleeve down. " _Was,"_ she corrected. "And not because I wanted to—they had what I needed. Point is, I know how these people are. It's dangerous."

"But Kate. She needs help. We have to go find her and get her to a doctor."

She waved her hand impatiently, her eyes briefly straying down the tunnel. "I get that, okay? Just— _I_ can't be there. We're not on good terms."

"'Not on good terms?' What do you mean?"

Clementine answered, "I was kicked out, okay? Again, I didn't _want_ to be there, but I _needed_ what they had." She watched him carefully until he slowly understood. "I'm not one of them. I… They will recognize me because…”

“…because?”

Clementine winced. This was far from her proudest moment. “Because I…well. Since I was kicked out, I’ve been…robbing their runners and random people on the streets? Beat some of them to where they weren’t recognizable--?”

“Jesus. Fucking. _Christ._ Clementine…”

“I-I know!” she gasped. “I know… We’re not on good terms.”

Javier gave a lengthy sigh. He should’ve known. Clementine had too much confidence and prose when they first met—at her gunpoint. …he was going to be another one, wasn’t he? If Javier fought, Clementine would have beaten him beyond recognition, right? He watched her, searching her eyes. Yes. He would’ve. Javier swallowed, then paused in thought. "Wait, did you know that they were in Richmond?"

" _No!"_ she hissed. "No, _I_ was a runner for supplies down southwest. I never came up here before. Not in the city…” Clementine held herself. God, she was a fucking monster wasn’t she? And Javi? No, he wasn’t. For his sake, she pled, “Please, okay? I can’t. If I’m there, I’m dead. And…” Her bullet-torn shoulder itched. “And I don’t really care about that, but…you’re dead too if they catch you with me. It’s how a lot of them work… Please, Javi. You have to believe me."

Javier folded his arms, working his jaw in thought. Before he could say anything though, Gabe called from the end of the tunnel: "Come on, guys! We're not going to sit and wait for you!" Javier looked over and found Conrad behind Gabe, standing silently with his pistol.

He glanced at Clementine, then turned and answered, "Alright, we're coming!" They jogged forward and turned the corner behind Gabe and Conrad. As the four walked towards sunlight, Javier asked, "Did they go through that?" He pointed towards a metro-train that was synched in the middle, forcing two cars upwards.

Gabe nodded. "Yeah."

They all clambered inside, careful not to slide on the newspapers that were scattered across the floor; in one of the seats, a newspaper box had wedged itself in place after having fallen through the door. Javier looked forward and found its entry point.

His heart leapt against his sharp ribs as Conrad aimed his gun towards Clementine.

"Whoa, whoa! What are you doing?!"

"Don't play dumb with me! Finish your story!"

Clementine was equally as bewildered, and she looked at Javier for help. "Look, we just need to get moving—"

" _No!_ Not 'til you move up that sleeve of yours!"

"Sleeve?" Gabe asked in confusion. "What—"

Javier stepped forward, only to jerk back. The pistol was searching for a target. "Put the gun away, Conrad! We don't have time for this!"

"Yes we do." He snatched Clementine's arm. "Your _sleeve."_

Clementine wormed away. "What is he talking about?" Gabe's eyes darted between all three. She sighed with her own thumping heart, and, hesitantly, she pulled up her sleeve to reveal the New Frontier's brand. "You're one of them?!"

"Certainly is!"

"No, she's one of us!" Javier snapped. "She was on the other side of the fight when Mariana and Francine died, remember?!"

"So she goes back-and-forth! That makes her even worse!"

Clementine sneered, "I'm just going to leave, alright?! I'm not one of them—!"

"Bullshit!" Conrad forced his glare to Javier. "She can help us get in—!"

"It doesn't work like that! They don't negotiate, okay?!" Clementine urged.

Javier whipped out his own weapon. "Conrad, stop! I don't want anything to do with this!"

Conrad growled, yanking Gabe to his side by the collar of his jacket, and with the gun pointed to his head. "How about we make a deal? Clementine comes with us and we get in, or your nephew gets it!"

"Conrad!" Clementine snarled. Gabe fidgeted, struggling to keep his feet with Conrad's arm around his neck.

"What?! She could be useful! We get in, she's off our backs and we're safe, right?!"

"Conrad...please, let him go," Javier begged. Conrad's eyes narrowed, and Javier saw his trigger finger itch. Immediately, a bullet fired.

Conrad's body slumped to the ground. His face remained stained with his anger. He didn’t see it coming.

Javier stared, horrified with himself; he barely felt the Glock in his hands. Gabe staggered away through his pants, his eyes wide with shock. "Go ahead..." Javier murmured to his nephew. "I'll...be there in a moment."

"What?"

"Go _ahead."_ Gabe nodded slowly, then scrambled through the door with his head hammering and ears ringing. Javier's shoulders slacked. "Shit... I-I didn't—"

Clementine eyed Javier. He was wracked with another grief. One that came from the people who never wanted to shoot. One that she desperately wanted to find within herself. One that…separated the people from monsters. Clementine swallowed, eyes to Javier and not the pooling blood by their feet. "It's not your fault. It just happened so fast." Her own heart was hammering.

"Yeah...right." He gulped the tightness in his throat down. "Go." She stood expectantly. Javier’s voice was beaten to a whisper. "Go. Before they see you."

"And what about you? You're going to be alright with that?" He nodded. Clementine stepped backwards. "I'm... Okay." Conrad's blood dripped past them in a narrow line. "Thank-you, really. I know you didn't want to but..."

Javier smiled gently, one that didn't reach his eyes. "We're a team...right?" he said, his words hoarse. Clementine nodded, then turned around. She didn't look back as she disappeared down the tunnel, leaving him alone. Cravings resurfaced. Her guilt—which had been a unceasing emotion for the past few days—irked her. The flask at her hip wasn't enough to drown it all.

No. It wasn't. Definitely not.

Before the corner, she stopped and finally turned around. Javier would've continued forward. Of course she wouldn’t have seen him one final time. _No. This isn’t—_ Clementine frowned, feeling herself be tugged in two different directions. The train car. Away. The train car. Away. To Javi. To wherever.

She went away. To wherever.

**— — — — — — — —**

_There once was a station wagon. Left open. The lights on. Its ring loud in the night. The group flocked to it—hungry, cold, tired. And after the hell’s paradise they just left, it was like a diamond had grown in the place of weeds…_

Clementine stalked, weaving in between the pines. Ever since the New Frontier had shunted her away, she roamed her pathways like clockwork. She searched for anything to eat, cook, hunt, or drink. Only a few weeks had passed, and already it was habitual. Clementine was a panther, circulating her territory.

And anybody who’d cross it—anybody at all—she would, well… Like any hunter, she would strike.

_They had argued. About the car, with all of its resources served as a wealthy buffet. Clothes. Food. Water. Blankets. Books. Camping gear. Batteries and flashlights. So. Many. Things. And it all goaded the group, whispering in their ears that nobody was around. Nobody was there to have them shy away from their abrupt gift. Nobody at all…_

Clementine crouched and rested her shotgun against the trunk of an old tree, scanning through the bushes. She watched the people wander. She heard their anxious curiosity as they stumbled in the clearing.

With the flask in her hand, Clementine inhaled a swig. This was going to be easy. Those girls were perfect. She eyed the pregnant backpack that one of them carried, completely overstuffed by so. Many. Things.

She stashed the flask away, snatched the shotgun, and made her move.

_Except, two stood on the outskirts as the rest of the group—giddy and joyous—pawed their new-found prize. Side-by-side, together, they rejected such a gift. Her hand was joined with his, and she watched a snug red hoodie slip out from the trunk to be examined. She turned away from the unsure gaze sent in her direction, second-guessing the girl’s adamant decision._

_There was no way the little girl would ransack that car. She watched the scene, uncomfortable, with the hazel sun in her eyes. Every fiber in her being willed her against it…_

Eyes of hellfire didn’t break from the pair as Clementine stepped out into the clearing, gun cocked. Both had their backs turned, oblivious and instead primed with confusion. She didn’t give a flying fuck if they were lost; the stupid girls were in _her_ web now.

Clementine raised the barrel and hissed, “Don’t. Move.”

The girls both froze, unnerved. The rough patches of dirt crunched underneath Clementine’s boots as she paced forward, her gaze unmoving. Her voice sliced through the air, and it sent charged shivers down their spines: “Keep your eyes up and out.”

The taller one—with raven hair pulled into a tight bun—twisted around. She snarled, “I don’t think so, you _bitch!”_

The girl was fast, though the barrel of Clementine’s shotgun was faster; before she could even pull out her revolver, Clementine sent her straight to the earth with a clobber to the jaw.

_For several days, she was questioned about it. The man who stood beside her didn’t, of course, but the rest most certainly did. It wasn’t like she could avoid the food they ate, nor the water they drank, but she could pass the blankets and towels and jackets._

_The ring of the car doors still looped in her thoughts. She tried to draw, just to keep it at bay. Though, with all of their questions, it was no use. It was a constant thought._

_They shouldn’t have done it. They shouldn’t have done it. People would be destroyed—and the man of the station wagon was…_

“JANET!” the other girl screamed.

The girl with the bun, Janet or whatever, gasped on the ground, holding her face. The blood from her nose had drenched her cheek on impact, and the curve of her jaw was already darkening into a nasty bruise. Clementine sneered, “You better stay down.” She looked to the other girl, who trembled in place. The inferno in her stare switched back and met a terrified sky-blue, who stared at her in horror from the dirt. Clementine added, “Your girlfriend wouldn’t want to see what I’d do if you didn’t. I’m not nice, you see? And now I’m fucking pissed.”

Clementine left Janet to lay in the dirt, the revolver an arm’s length from her broken nose and uneven jaw. The other girl quivered as she stalked closer, taking only a step back before Clementine snarled, “And now you…”

_It didn’t matter if she never took anything from the station wagon. It didn’t matter if the man who stood beside her didn’t. The station wagon man still stole her away, giving the man who stood beside her a chance to get bit. A chance for her to shoot him. A chance for him to die chained in a jewelry store._

_And she was left all alone for a day, wandering wheat fields aimlessly…_

“W-What do you want from us?!” the girl wept. “We— We never did anything to you!”

“You walked down my path as I was coming this way,” Clementine hissed. “And _that_ was your own mistake. The bag. I want it.”

The girl narrowed her eyes through her tears, and she pushed her glasses further up the bridge of her nose. “N-No…” she whispered. “We can’t. You mess with us, and you mess with the N-New Frontier!”

_The girl learned something that day, something that she’d continue to fight for years thereafter…_

Clementine’s expression warped with anger. “Oh. So you’re _runners.”_ The stupid girls really were lost; the route they were supposed to run was a few blocks down. Her jaw tightened, and she glanced over her shoulder to Janet. She remained on the ground, the revolver still a distance away. “That doesn’t mean anything to me,” Clementine murmured, further striking fear into those sky-blue eyes. She turned back to the girl with the glasses.

With her sleeve rolled, and the color drained from the girl’s face at the sight of the New Frontier’s brand. “They already know about me. We aren’t friends anymore. Hand. It. Over.”

“W-Why…?” the girl whimpered, slowly slipping the backpack off her shoulders.

_Civility and good nature didn’t matter anymore. Not as you starved. Not as monsters claimed everything…_

Clementine grabbed the straps of the bag before swinging it over. “It doesn’t matter, does it?” she answered. “ _You’re_ not my friend either.” She readjusted her shotgun. “Now close your eyes, count to thirty—” she glared at Janet, who was as still as ever— “and don’t. Fucking. Move.”

The girls both closed their eyes and counted. Clementine slipped in between the trees without so much a noise, and by the time thirty was reached, she was gone. They could still feel her gaze within the shadows—where the sun hadn’t yet claimed—as Janet was helped to her feet.

Once they left her territory, however, Clementine broke away and began wandering towards a small cottage house. Her eyes swept the landscape for anything moving, though only the tall grass shifted.

“Clem…”

It was only a small whisper from behind, one that was slow to realize. Clementine heard it nonetheless. She twisted around, and immediately everything spiked.

He was still in the shadows, a ghost. The man reached forward, the warmth of the sun hitting his fingertips. “Why…? You never use to steal,” he asked quietly, his one kind eye watered.

Clementine’s stare was monstrous. She raised the shotgun, the buzz of her whiskey the only thing she could think and feel. “Fuck off,” she snarled.

His eye widened, and he swallowed. “Clem— Please, I want t’ talk to you. It’s been so long—”

Kenny was shot into a cloud of shadows. Clementine hissed, the shotgun’s bellow still sharp in her ears. The longer she lingered, the more her shivers enveloped her body. Clementine’s breaths were shallow, and a knot grew in between her shoulders.

With a hard swallow, Clementine turned away.

The girl who stood away from the station wagon… Well, she grew to be unrecognizable. A monster that claimed everything.

**— — — — — — — —**

And down that same path, Clementine wondered about those girls and whether or not they were in Richmond. If the girl she hit, if she ever survived that blow. Or if she was ever the same. She wondered a great many things about those two amongst her scattered thoughts, her body only following the path out of instinct, towards the small cottage. A moth to its light. A salmon up the stream. A habitual panther.

Everything was hazy as she made it out from the trees. Clementine could barely feel the nearly-empty bottle in one hand, a knife in the other. She roamed down the street with a trail of rotting corpses behind her, their eyes drab and punctures in their heads fresh. Clementine staggered to the side after snagging her foot in a pothole, catching herself on a lamppost. "Damn it," she snapped, glaring at the road. Clementine wiped her cheek, clearing her skin of black blood.

For a while, she watched the stars that hung above her, transfixed. As a little girl, she often wondered about the night's sky. Clementine frowned, trying to collect the assumptions she made then, before the world plummeted into the age of death. And she found that...she couldn't remember. Especially with everything _else_ sprinting through her mind.

Removing herself from the lamppost, Clementine found the small cottage ahead. She gave a sort of smile, knowing that it was safe and regularly empty of people—dead or alive. It was a quaint house, alone on its side of the road with a large backyard. One of the only houses that weren’t ever crawling with _people._ She passed a swing-set before reaching the back door. With it closed, Clementine sighed and tossed the bottle in the sink. It fractured on impact, an addition to the small collection she'd begun to build up.

In the living room, Clementine sat in the only comfortable seat in the house: a leather armchair facing the large window and driveway. Beside her was an old, 1970s-style television set, with a gaping mouth where a zombified hand rested. And on the other side, a turned-over couch blocking the basement door (her doing several months prior). Her gaze wandered around the house, resting on the bolted front door, then the floorboards that were worse-for-wear in some places.

With a sigh, Clementine stared out the window, idly watching a walker slug across the road with both legs missing. For a moment, she debated searching it for anything useful, though declined in favor of the comfortable chair. Then she glanced at the sudden figures in the window lazi—

Her heart seized.

Clementine whipped her attention to them in the window, realizing that the man and woman were not outside but a _reflection._ Pistol at the ready, she slowly got to her feet, eyes kept on the glass. She couldn't speak. Slowly, her head turned to look over her shoulder. They stared at her, holding each other endearingly. Clementine didn't realize she backed away until she felt the chilling window against her shoulder, her bullet scar’s shiver, and the windowsill pressed against the small of her back.

The eerie silence deafened the house.

Clementine blinked. Her eyes stung without reason as she stared at them. The first thing she noticed was how clean they were; there were no tears or stains in their clothes, their skin was smooth and washed, and their hair—resembling hers with dark coils—were cleanly kept and trimmed.

The woman spoke: "Clementine, baby, don't you recognize us?"

The grip around her raised weapon began to tremble, her trigger finger itching. Clementine's breath shook as tears streamed down her cheeks. _No, it can’t be. No…_ "M-Mom...? D-Dad...?" she asked with a quiet strain in her voice. "No, _no,"_ she wept. "You're dead. You're _dead."_

"We're waiting for you," her father said calmly. He extended his hand. "This world is no place for our daughter. Come home. Sandra's been worried sick about you."

"You're all _dead,"_ Clementine snapped. "You're all dead... And I don't have...a...a home."

"Put the gun down, honey," her mother urged. Clementine staggered backwards, sliding against the window. Her parents were far closer than they were before. They were _stalking_ towards her, their movements gradual and slugged. "Be a good girl and put it away. You shouldn't be playing with that."

"Listen to her, Clementine." Her father trudged towards her with his foot dragging against the floor. "I don't know who gave you that or who told to point it at someone. So put it away and come with us."

"I— I'm not leaving!" Her thoughts were hysterical. Clementine shook her head, trembling as she stepped backwards to the couch. Where was her buzz?! Where was the white noise?! Nothing but absolute terror plagued her. Clementine’s voice cracked through her whimper. This wasn’t happening. This wasn’t—

Her mother pleaded, "Please, Clemmie," as she knocked herself into the corner of the television. Her knees buckled, but nevertheless, the woman didn’t flinch otherwise. "We don't want to see you like this anymore. Just look at you."

Clementine wormed away from them, her heels scraping the floor as she backed right into the couch. Her father grabbed her wrist for a split second before she wrenched it away, hurling herself towards the stairs. "Don't touch me!" she snarled. The tremors that rushed through her body jerked her grip around the pistol. His touch was a cold knife: sharp and icy. Merciless. Unforgiving.

Clementine’s world lurched. Everything sagged and shivered. Her parents' skin rotted away, revealing their bones caked in decomposing blood and eyes pearly white. Their clothes hung from their bodies, shredded. Their skin grew patchy and blotched, and their hair matted.

 _"Look what you've become."_ His words rattled against his ribs, mouth agape and teeth clacking. _"We've both seen you do terrible things... We want to take you away from this world."_

 _"Yesss, honey,"_ her mother hissed like a hose, her trachea vibrating from her throat, _"there is still a chance for you. A better life. We will forgive you for the blood on your hands."_

Clementine shook her head. "No, n-no! You're ly-ing! You're not taking m-me away!" she sobbed. "I-I won't _let you!"_

Her father swiped at her as she stumbled up the steps, her clutch digging into the railing. _"There is no saving our child,"_ he snarled, and his words were barely understandable. _“We need you to try again.”_

"No...no...no...no..." Clementine whimpered, her vision blurred.

_"I see the devil in your eyes."_

"No... No _please_ , d-don't say that."

 _"We're here to drag you straight to hell, Clementine."_ Her father roared a walker's call, clambering up the stairs unevenly with her mother toppling over him. _“We’re here to make you try again. Put that damn thing in your mouth.”_ Their arms snatched the air to reach their daughter.

"No, _no,"_ Clementine hissed, her teeth clenched. A warmth bled through the roof of her mouth. A metal tang. Everything within her writhed. She shook her head, and snarled, "No, I won't let you! I won't _let you!"_

Her trigger finger jerked, releasing two bullets to scream in terror and defiance at her wake. Her mother took the first, her eye completely freed from her head before she smacked down the stairs. Her father screeched as his bullet tore through the center of his face; his head fell onto a step, splattering on impact, leaving the rest of his body to slump against the wall.

Clementine choked on her tears as she stared, the walkers gradually losing any resemblance of her parents. They were freshly risen, their identical sandy hair drenched in blood. She dropped the pistol beside her. Both hands planted themselves against her ears as she shook, the rest of her body rooted to the spot. "Fuck... _Fuck..."_ Her chest was shattered; Clementine held it as she coughed through her cries. "G-God help m-me... G-God...I-I can't go to hell. I-I c-can't be a-alone... _Please... Oh please, God..."_

And as her breaths heaved themselves past her lips, through her teeth, she felt the warmth of her mouth hiss. The muzzle of a pistol nestled against her tongue. Clementine wiped her mouth and unraveled, her cries pierced and hysterical as any gunfire.

For hours she couldn't move. In that quaint house, Clementine was the slave to her own trauma, another battle lost.

**— — — — — — — —**

Clementine sat along a log bench, alone, with a fire set at her feet. She ignored the chatter of the other men and women, her hand kept on her arm. With a wince, she rolled up her left sleeve. The brand just above her elbow was still foreign. Just as strange as the deep ravine of skin and scar tissue down same arm was at first. And the bullet wound at her shoulder. And her missing finger…

She frowned. No, it was still strange. Clementine didn’t ask for any of the others, but she did allow to be branded like a fucking cow. That was the strange thing, wasn’t it? Not the brand, but the fact that she was in a group again.

A group… Other _people._

Clementine held the brand for another moment, soothing its burn. At least Ava was the one to do it, even if Clementine had to argue with a tent full of men to make it happen. And then promise to run extra supplies. And then not complain when the blisters on her feet ached after all of it.

The joke was on them: Clementine’s aches and pains were the least of her worry, and if they paid any attention to her missing finger, the bullet wound, and the deep scar, they would’ve realized that she didn’t give a damn to what amounted to trivial matters.

But…she was still thirsty. Her eyes shifted amongst the group around the fire, and whenever anybody sent their gaze her way, Clementine jerked her eyes back to the ground. Clementine’s head throbbed, and she chewed the inside of her cheek. Curiously, she turned towards her right where—a couple of tents away—A.J was sound asleep in Ava’s arms. The woman gave a small wave, to which Clementine responded in kind, though gentle.

Clementine turned abruptly to the steps behind her. She blinked, and looked up. David, the one who ran this camp. Dog-tags around his neck. Clothes reminiscent of the military. The same type of person who remained to be a soldier. The same type as…Lilly; Clementine didn’t exactly know where that came from, her life in a motel long, long ago. Or why she thought of it.

She was nervous, to say the least, as he sat beside her—hands together, leaned forward, with arms at his knees. David gave Clementine what could’ve been a smile, though she assumed it had been a while; it was the same one she caught _herself_ wearing on occasion.

“You handle yourself well, out there. Kept some of my most trusted on their toes—even left a few behind, didn’t you?” David commented with a few chuckles.

Clementine was slow to reply: “…thanks. It’s not that impressive. I just got supplies.”

David nodded. “Sure. But you were able to take care of those things quick enough. Barely made any noise.”

She shrugged sheepishly. “I don’t always have a gun or bullets. It’s not reliable that way.”

“Exactly,” David said. When she didn’t give any more to the conversation, he reached for his vest. “Here. Even with everything, I saw that you…uh, seem to need something to pick yourself up.”

Clementine took a brief glance before doubling-back. Her eyes widened.

In his hands was a titanium flask, clothed in leather. Clementine heard whatever was in their slosh at the top. The thing was full, and all she remembered was the plain, worn flask from a trunk years ago. “I…” she whispered. “What’s in that?”

“Some whiskey,” he murmured carefully. “You reminded me of some people who were the same. It’s my spare.”

Clementine took it. She could only stare at the thing in her hands. “Thank-you,” she mumbled before unscrewing the cap and taking a long swing. Immediately, the tension, the anxiety, and bubbling _need_ blinked away as the drink crawled down her throat.

“It’s no issue, so long as you keep your drive.”

“I will,” Clementine ruffed from behind the lid.

David nodded, then said, “The world’s taken its toll on you, hasn’t it? Always in battle with the enemy?”

She breathed and closed the flask. “I guess you can say that. There’s no rest.”

“None at all…” he murmured absently. They turned towards his name from across the camp. David sighed, then stood up. “I have orders. Keep your spirits, Clementine, for the next assignment.”

“Right.” Clementine watched him leave before her eyes were inevitably glued to the flask. She ran her thumbs along the seams of the leather, and she read the branded label, half-expecting it to be the New Frontier’s sigil.

But no.

Instead, there was a compass on one side, then a globe on the other. She concentrated, brows furrowed, as she tried to name the continents. She could only remember the Americas, Africa and Asia. The rest she couldn’t remember, partly due to her only ever getting those ones correct on her quizzes. Wait, no, _there_ was Europe—however you spelt the place. And…Russia? Russia was a continent, right?

She chewed the inside of her cheek. There was an Australia somewhere, and the fat mass of ice on the bottom had a name, right? Clementine scowled. Maps of the whole world were always so confusing.

Back to the compass, she traced the lines of the letters and numbers intimately. If only it was a working one… She unscrewed the lid and sipped on the booze. A thought surfaced, and she came to the conclusion that it was, in fact, working.

Clementine went back to tracing the designs, cap closed.

After a few minutes, she then got to her feet, flask at hand. She roamed the camp, almost in a daze. The whiskey, it was nice to Clementine. She felt her strength seep back, and her calm. As she watched the trees, at the foot of the fire’s warmth and light, Clementine drank more of it. It was like magic, how much it fueled her…

“Hey, uh…Clementine?”

She jolted in place, and eyes of hellfire slipped over her shoulder. “Hi,” Clementine grunted once turning away. “Thanks for watching A.J… Who’s with him now?”

“Lingard. He’s giving A.J some water and warm food,” Ava answered. She stood beside Clementine, rather unsure. “What’s in that?”

“The brand? I dunno…”

“’Are you _drinking?’_ is what I meant.”

Clementine narrowed her eyes and screwed the cap on the flask tightly. “So what?” She held up her hand, scowling, “And _don’t_ say I shouldn’t ‘cause I’m a kid!”

Ava was left puzzled. She watched Clementine sadly; the woman now understood why she looked so drained before. It was because Clementine didn’t have any fire left. Not one flame to help fight against the beast in her eyes. Even so, like before, Ava refrained from asking _what_ that beast was, exactly. She assumed it was the same reason why Clementine didn’t belong in groups, and why she hated people.

So, words soft, Ava replied, “Okay… Okay, I’m not saying anything.”

Clementine tightened her jaw and nodded. “Fine…”

**— — — — — — — —**

A night later, Clementine sat at the edge of a small cliff, overlooking the mass of walkers heading towards Richmond. She glared onto the sight, arms folded as she stood tall. Clementine sipped on her flask, maintaining the buzz that kept her strong. Behind her were a bundle of RVs, completely safe from the walkers down below.

She could practically smell the death and dust the herd picked up, and she—

Something caught the corner of her eye.

Clementine frowned and squinted. "Is that...?” Her heart jolted. “Javi!" She recognized his baseball jersey from the way it almost glowed in the moonlight. And that ignored the fact that nobody else wore a white baseball jersey to begin with. Clementine raced down the slope as the multitude of walkers swarmed him down below.

She heard him drop his metal bat before she saw it. The metal dribbled against the rocks as Clementine careened around a few trees, just in time. He stumbled backwards until landing flat on his side. And while Javier internally prayed for his life—grimacing and hands held out---, Clementine swooped in. After having watched the herd for the better part of an hour, Clementine found it satisfying to hear the bat's metal ring against their heads. Over and over and over again. With each swing, the faces of her dead parents flashed before her eyes, just a second before the impact. Every time, Clementine saw herself bash their faces in.

And it felt good, what with her thoughts clouded in white noise, and her body humming a fury like no other.

After the rest were taken care of, leaving Clementine breathless, Javier gasped, "Oh God..."

Clementine handed him the bat, handle first. "You need to be more careful with that."

"You just saved my life," he said, grabbing her hand to get to his feet.

Clementine frowned, working the faces of the dead away with a quiet smile. "Just add it to the pile."

Javier shook his head, and he peered through the dark night wildly. He caught her strained words—the ones that weren’t out of momentary exhaustion—and blinked at her in amazement. "Shit, Clem. Where did you come from?"

She pointed upwards. "There's an RV camp there. It’s a part of this park, I think. Not a lot of walkers go by." Clementine looked around. "And you're alone because...?"

"Got separated from Tripp and Jesus," Javier answered. "We were up in there—Richmond—before they kicked us out. Kate and Gabe are still there, though. In the city’s hospital.”

"Figures," Clementine muttered. "I can only imagine with David running most of the place."

Javier chuckled. "Oh, I know that more than you..." Clementine arched a brow. "He's...uh, he's my brother."

"Oh." Clementine's eyes looked him up and down in speculation. That revelation had…thrown her for a loop, to say the least. And yet…there was _some_ resemblance. Not a lot, but some. "I'm guessing you two aren't close?"

He tilted his head side-to-side. "Uh...it's complicated. He's my brother, so...you know..." Javier watched her. She looked confused. "Uh, do you? Did you have siblings? A brother or sister?" Clementine shook her head. "Ah, okay, so you wouldn't. Anyway, it's complicated."

"Yeah, I can tell. Now where are you going?"

"To the warehouse down that way," he said, pointing ahead. "But we need to find Jesus and Tripp."

"Not happening."

"What?!"

Clementine folded her arms. "Look, the number of walkers around here, it's not happening right now, especially at night." And that fact was highlighted by the swarm just down the street, ravaging everything it came across.

Javier worked his jaw and let out a long sigh. "I-I guess. We _did_ have a plan if we got separated. To meet a little ways before the warehouse until morning."

"Then we'll wait for a bit."

"What?"

They began to stroll away from the road, where Clementine silently led the way and Javier numbly followed. Clementine explained, "Look, I know a short-cut. It's the warehouse a few miles past the suburban neighborhood, right?" He nodded. "Yeah, I was a runner for the New Frontier, remember? I went by there all the time—a few routes per week. Probably even stocked a few things in there too. I know a short-cut."

"But what about them?"

"Jesus and Tripp can handle themselves, right? Jesus being…Jesus, and Tripp with those boots that ‘weigh heavier than me.’"

"Well...yeah."

"Then come on," Clementine said, offering a hand as she began to climb up the incline. "We need to get out of the way of the walkers. You guys walked in on a weaker side. They'll clear relatively quickly."

Javier debated. "How long would that take?"

"I don't know. Four, five hours? Six? It's not like they're running a marathon, Javi." He rolled his eyes and took her hand. "See? It's not that hard."

"Oh, stuff it."

**— — — — — — — —**

Isolating Javier and Clementine from the walkers were four large RVs, tires slashed, incasing them within a square of temporary peace. He looked around as Clementine sat comfortably in a worn foldable chair, eyes to a newborn fire within a rock-pit. "You sure they don't get in?"

Clementine shrugged. "There's been a couple to get in, but there isn't much room for more than one to squeeze through in each of the corners." Javier crossed his arms, narrowing his shoulders anxiously. As Clementine pulled out her flask and unscrewed the lid, she said, "We're fine, Javi. There's nothing that'll get in."

"No, I believe you. I'm just...cold."

She arched a brow from over her flask. Once Clementine swallowed her sip, she said, "Well then sit over here by the fire."

Javier nodded, and he was quick to find himself settled into the wooden chair beside her. He leaned the bat on the broken arm of the chair and rubbed his temple. His foot tapped and stomach flipped. Javier lifted his head. "Should we go find them?"

"They would find our bodies first," Clementine replied grimly. "I saw the herd over there a ways. And it's heading straight for Richmond. There's...not a lot we can do right now except wait."

He chewed his lip. "And you think they'll be fine?"

"Yeah." Clementine ducked her head back, and she drank the whisky for a long few seconds. She then leaned forward once done, resting her head in one hand with the other dangling the flask over the ground. "Tripp may be an ass, but he can handle himself. And Jesus is probably good on his own, considering..."

Javier, once again, nodded, tossing a small cut of wood into the fire. Clementine's shadow against the beige RV behind them swarmed to life as she consumed more whisky. She took in a long breath and released it deeply, from the base of her chest. Javier thought for a moment, watching the fire alongside her. In it, he found Mariana, full of life and innocence; for Clementine, she found the silhouette of two people—long dead, unrecognizable other than rotting flesh. Of who…should have claimed her the night in the cottage.

“I mean to ask,” Javier murmured, “you looked a bit frazzled when you saved me—which, thanks…again.”

“No problem,” Clementine hummed. She sounded distant.

“So… Anything wrong?”

Clementine frowned, her thumb tracing the lines of the compass branded on the flask’s leather. “Nothing really. I’ve just been trying to remember what my parents looked like all day,” she answered, quiet.

“Oh.” He leaned against his chair. “You…”

“Forgot? Yeah.” Clementine groaned as she took another lug of her flask. Once satisfied, she exhaled and watched the fire.

“And they…?” Clementine didn’t answer. Javier watched her for a moment, the way the flames met in her eyes. The spark that she had after knocking down that tree was absent. Her usual flare nulled. Her fuse gone. "How much of that do you drink?"

It was as if he roused her from a daze. Clementine's eyes shifted to him, then to the flask. "Lasts me a week usually, if I just take sips." With a sigh, she said, " _But,_ that's not happening this time." The last of it was drunk before she dropped the flask in the dirt, wiping her mouth. She tossed more wood pieces into the fire.

"And what else...?"

"I don't know," she grumbled, "but you'd be surprised by how much there is just laying around."

Javier frowned. "I've rarely come across any."

"Probably because you're looking wrong."

"What?"

Clementine got up and strode towards the beige RV. Along the bottom were small compartments. She opened the furthest one on the left, the closest to the driver's seat. Inside were broken tools and empty bags of food. "You have to keep the important stuff safe, right?"

Javier nodded. "Well, yeah..."

She moved to the next one over. Clementine jiggled on the handle and scowled. "Fuckin'—" She kicked it _hard_ to the point the vehicle swayed. The compartment opened. Clementine grinned, opening it to present to Javier.

His eyes went wide, and he leaned against the chair. "Holy...fucking...shit." Clementine, proud of her stash, pulled out a large bottle of rum—one that she'd been craving for months, though relented for a special occasion. And what better night than during a swarming herd of walkers down the road? "Francine was right... You could have supplied the bar!" Clementine shrugged, flopping back down in her seat. "How'd... How'd you manage all of that?!"

"Well," she started, tugging off the rum bottle's cap, "a quarter of that was already in there. I have spots all along from here to Prescott like this."

"You have this whole system _just_ to save yourself the trouble of carrying all of it?" Clementine nodded as she drank some. "Mierda..." he breathed, almost in awe.

Clementine thrusted her hand towards him, grip tight around the neck of the bottle. "You want some?"

"Sure." Javier took the bottle, then drank. "Damn... That's good."

"I know, right?" Clementine was handed back the bottle. "I can't do that shit in the cans, though." She shivered. "I don't know what it is, but I can taste the metal. Like whenever you find plastic water bottles."

Javier nodded, knowing the feeling too well. "Oh, yeah. There are days when I just want to leave them, especially if the water had some sun." He leaned back as the fire continued to spit and crackle. He watched her gulp more of the rum. Curious (and fearful), he asked, "Do you drink this much... _all_ the time?"

Clementine shrugged and set the rum down. "Yeah. Well...usually it's a little from my flask and a bottle a day. Sometimes. Not as big as this."

"How do you not get sick? You can die from it, you know."

A smile finally creased her lips, though it was solemn. "I know. Alcohol poisoning, right?" Clementine looked at Javier in his eyes. He grew nervous with what she would say next. And he had every right: "What do you think I'm trying to do?"

"Clementine..."

"I _can't_ though," she hissed, her voice at the brink of trembling. "I can't, knowing I'd be one of them. I can't stop being _alive,_ and--- God fucking damn it..." She swallowed and looked at the ground between her boots. She shook her head. The roof of her mouth was warm, and she felt snow haunt her. Clementine looked back to the bottle and drank. To forget. Whatever was in that snow, she wanted to forget. Whatever was beside those bodies—whatever warmed the roof of her mouth—she wanted to leave.

"That's the hardest thing, Javi. I-I can't kill myself, but I don't..." Clementine tightened her lips with a clenched jaw.

Javier didn't know what to do. His mind raced with no right response. He cleared his throat and gave the only answer he could muster, allowing himself to say, "I know how you feel, Clem... I know how shitty the world can be. I gambled to take my mind off of things, you know? And it felt good in the moment, but it doesn't last... And I know you know that better than most people." He swallowed and scratched his hand. "Difference is, I had everything. I had a baseball career. I had...everything. I was just...running from home, mi familia." He laughed sourly. "And, when my papi died, I...told myself, I wasn't going to run anymore. I was going to stay with my family."

He turned to his side, tearing his gaze from the fire-pit. Clementine didn't, her face washed in warm hues. Though, all the same, Javier knew she was listening intently. "Clem, listen, I know...it's not easy for you to be with people. I know it’s— I know it’s really fuckin’ difficult, actually. But...family, it's— By blood or experience, family is what protects you from yourself." He touched his chest. "I'm an example of that." Kate came to mind. Her deep, striking eyes. Her copper skin and cheery smile. "And...if you ever experience being in love with someone, and they love you just as much, don't let go. Family protects you from the outside. _They_ will protect you from the inside."

For a long, long time, Clementine remained silent. The fire before them had died down, and it warm as its orange glow caressed the air.

When she did speak, Javier barely heard her: "I've had many families." Clementine's gaze lacked its usual edge. It was completely devoid of life, only filled to the brim with sorrow. "I almost died last night. I was at this house that's usually...empty. Nobody around, just me and some rabbits or whatever... Two guys though—they might have been brothers, I don't know. But...they had to’ve died there because they rose and attacked me.

"I didn't see them as walkers first though. They were my parents. But...I didn't recognize them, Javi... It wasn't until my—" Clementine tightened her jaw, forcing down the knot in her throat. "It wasn't until my mom said something to me that I realized..." She grew quiet again, only for a moment. "They're dead, in Savanah. I— I saw them... When it started, they were there for a trip. I thought they would come back and...they didn’t. When I _did_ get to Savannah, they had…turned.” She rubbed the neck of the bottle absentmindedly, searching for her parents’ faces again. But nothing. All was blank. Except… “I thought my dad did, for a moment."

She smiled warmly, the sparkle in her eyes brief. "But...no. It was Lee. My, my new family. And we had this group. Kenny, Carley, Duck, Katjaa... Fuck, even Lilly before...before she—" Her throat tightened, something dark within her chest stirring awake. _Blossoming._ It writhed and itched, its urge for a drink quiet. But, she pushed it away, too tired and worn to care. "One-by-one, though...they were picked off. And Lee... Lee got bit, and I— I had to shoot him."

Javier watched his hands, eyes burning and heart aching. He knew it was far from the end. He heard it in her voice, the way it cracked and broke into fragmented tones.

"Christa and Omid...they were his...substitute before they..." Clementine stared deeply into the center of the fire-pit. "I found a new family after that. One of the women, Rebecca... She had a baby. And Kenny, even, managed to live long enough to see me again. But...it was the same thing. In the end, it was just me...him...Jane and— _Fuck."_ She gripped her head with one hand, her baseball cap falling to the ground as fingers laced through her hair. "My...my little _goofball,"_ she whined, "my little A.J... We were with...the baby and...and..." Her cries took control, unravelling all the emotions that had been dormant. The ones she put to sleep with her flask. "Her screams... All I heard were her _screams_... She knew where A.J was and...and Kenny didn't. I-I didn't. They fought, and... And they wouldn’t. Fucking. Stop. So when she screamed for me, I c-couldn't. I couldn't and I— Kenny killed her w-while I turned my head...

"But when I looked back, she was covered in blood. It was everywhere. The snow. His hands... I-I didn't think. I... I pulled a gun on him and he looked at me, begging me to do it so...I— I... I wanted to, so much. And I did…" Javier felt tears drop, sinking through the dirt below him. "And I…was…so happy I did for a moment. I-I— Everything was quiet. Everything…” Clementine hissed a sob. Her hand snaked to her shoulder where the bullet’s scar remained; she felt it bite and scratch with a ravenous chill. Clementine felt hot metal in her mouth, and she…

“ _F-F-Fuck!”_ she whispered. Clementine forced her eyes closed, teeth bared against the phantom of her agony from a lifetime ago. As she hissed rattled breaths, Clementine forced her eyes into the fire, and took a drink. Immediately, the booze washed the warmth of her mouth away, and for another spell of time she’d just granted herself, Clementine could forget the pistol in her mouth.

And she remembered distant wails of a baby, safe in a car. With Javier watching her, still wracked by her own grief, Clementine whispered, “A.J was alive, though, and I t-took care of him. I— He was with me when I joined the N-New Frontier. I only joined for him. He... He needed food and medicine. And..."

Clementine lifted her eyes which spliced through his own, anger and scorn boiling within them. "And your brother _refused_. He...he took A.J away from me after I...I had enough. The medicine I stole for him, it...it wasn't enough. It wasn't enough and I can't..." She sobbed into her hands as Javier choked against his knuckles.

He reached over and rubbed her back, scooting the wooden chair closer. In a soft whisper, he said, "You're not drinking to kill yourself, are you? You’re drinking to forget how to live." Clementine choked on her last few wrenching cries. She leaned into him as he rubbed her shoulder. "I can be your new family, you know... And Kate, and Gabe... We're not leaving any time soon. All of us, together."

"Don't say that..." she murmured, voice watery. "Everybody promises that and...it never happens. I promised A.J and..." Clementine went silent.

The two sat still for several minutes. Eventually, as the fire shrank, Javier added another small log to keep it busy. Clementine reached for the rum and brought it to her lips.

Familiarity panged him. "Wait." She paused before any slipped into her mouth. Addiction was a freight train, rearing its ugly head at every corner and charging down the straightaways. "If you're going to do that..." Nothing small in the middle of its tracks would slow it down. Sometimes it would rest, though that was the nature of all things; when it awoke the next time, it would soar with an unbridled determination. "You're not doing it alone." Only when it was derailed could it be slowed; only when it was knocked off its destructive path could the freight train come to a stop—dangerous and messy, though it was.

In no way—and Javier knew this—would he be able to knock over the bullet train that Clementine had, which struck mercilessly with the hellfire in her eyes, and the explosive temper she carried.

Clementine blinked in surprise. Her face softened, and she took the first gulp. He took the second, and the fourth, sixth, eight, tenth...

A few hours passed. The fire was gradually building to its maximum. At first, the wood was placed in. Then, it was tossed. And then thrown. Hurled. By the time the wood had run out, they laid on torn, bloodied sleeping bags with the empty bottle of rum on the ground. And a few other bottles, scattered about. They _thought_ that they drank all of them, though the flavors and brands never came to mind.

Especially with their conversations that swept the night away.

"Yeah, out of the two of us, I'm the uncle."

"Wh... What?"

" _I'm_ the uncle."

"I don't... What do you mean?"

Clementine sat up and stared at him. She jabbed her chest drunkenly, her cheeks flushed and smile tilted. " _I'm_ the uncle, so you're my...my...my nephew."

"But..." he asked, his breathy vowels elongated, " _how...?!_ You're...you're like sixteen and, and I'm like... Oh shit. I think— I think I turned thirty!"

Clementine cackled. "No, no, no, no... I'm not sixteen, I'm...I'm..." She frowned and jerked her gaze back to him. "Well, I do-n't know, but _I'm_ still your uncle."

"Uncle?"

"Ye-eahh." Her head bounced up and down. "Mee... That's, that's me."

Javier dug his palm into his left eye. "Oohhh, _I_ get it now." Together, they giggled at their nonsensical joke, one that sobriety would never comprehend. Javier flopped back down, eagle-spread. Considering she was already tipping to the side, Clementine slumped beside him.

"I... _love_ women," he breathed. "And when people say that...that their soul and heart is what's important and..." He sniffed, a fat tear dripping down the side of his head. "And they're right, you know? Nothin' can...can ever beat lovin' a woman like that, with their...soul and heart and heart an’ shit." Clementine nodded along, too sniffling with a wipe of a lone tear. Javier sighed heavily. "But." He stuck his pointer finger into the air. "But! When they have...that nice ass and—and the lines in their back... Mierda..."

Clementine followed his eyes to the stars, where surely there was the most beautiful woman for her to find. She blinked, scowled, but saw one nonetheless—one that she really had ought to have ignored. Fucking Eleanor. Even so, she mumbled, "Yeah... I like... I like it whenever their shirts show their necks and, and the— What's the bone here? The one that is...near the shoulder and neck?"

Javier frowned and pouted his lips. "Breastbone?"

"Breastbone...?" She narrowed her eyes before they abruptly widened. "Oh! Actually, sometimes...” Clementine chortled to herself, her eyes still on the stupid woman (somewhere) in the stars. “Sometimes, whenever I see Eleanor, I wonder what it's like to just...to just touch her boobs and—" She pinched the air delicately with a goofy smile. Javier giggled beside her, into the back of his hand.

"Are they...soft, Javi?"

"Wha...?"

"Boobs."

He snorted with a shit-eating grin. "Oh yeah, _oooohh yeah._ They're, they're soft. Real soft."

"Oh... Are— Are Kate's soft?"

"Um...what?"

"I know you have..." she murmured, punching his shoulder.

Javier snickered. "...yeah." A comfortable silence blanketed them, the symphony of distant walkers and a lead, single one playing in the background. Javier shot up once again excitedly. "Hey, Uncle!"

"Eh?"

"Have you...ever played a sport?"

Clementine pondered, one thought slotting into her consciousness at a time. "I dunno," she answered flatly.

"Well today's the day—" he got to his feet, determined— "that we _— Ughnnahh."_ As quickly as Javier hopped up, he came down with a hard thud, one that beckoned Clementine to cringe. She leaned over her feet, squinting to see if he was alright. His grunting as he pushed himself back to his knees confirmed that Javier García was—indeed—alright. She grinned. "Today is the day that we get you started on baseball!" He spun around, slipping over the not-slippery dirt. "Where's my bat, where's, oh! Right here!" He grabbed it off the ground, and took Clementine's hat for good measure. "Now, come on! I'll teach you!"

Clementine didn't appear amused with the baseball cap resting side-ways on his head. She glanced at his outstretched hand.

"Okay!" she chirped, hoisting herself up. "Where're we gonna do it?"

"Out—" Javier jabbed his arm towards one of the corners of the RVs— "there. We need the space, Clementine."

"O-kay." Her head swiveled around the small camp. "Where's the ball?"

"The ball?"

"Ye-ah."

Javier scratched his head. "We’ll...find one." Clementine nodded, assured, and strode confidently towards their designated spot (wherever it was in the night). Instead of walking in a straight line, however, her path took a nose-dive into the beige RV, knocking a few of the alcoholic bottles out of the still-open compartment. She laid on the ground in a heap. Javier barked in laughter, scooping Clementine up by her stomach. "Don't worry, I'll carry you!"

And like a towel, she hung from his arm, eyes following the ground as Javier stumbled a few paces away from the camp. "Alright." He dropped Clementine, prompting a guttural _Oof!_ out of her. "A ball... A ball..."

Clementine peeled herself from the ground and wiped her hands. She turned to the right and smiled. " _I_ got it."

"A ball?"

"A _replacement."_

She took out her knife and stalked her prey. Javier looked over her shoulder and snickered quietly; that little straggler didn't know what was about to hit them!

The walker turned around as Clementine pounced, promptly knocking its knee in. Though clumsy, her stab into the side of its head was quick to kill the fucker once and for all. She held the walker up by the tuff of its long, blonde hair. She jiggled it. "Look, no arms!" The walker wriggled, identical to a fish at the end of a line. And? Javier giggled and snorted, finding it rather humorous. With seven whacks of her knife, the head was severed from the neck. Clementine held it up. "A replacement!"

"Oh!"

And within thirty short minutes, Javier had Clementine situated by the RV, the zombified head gagged with a shirt they had found on the ground. ("We can't let it bite us, you know!" Clementine had said. "I know, I know! Let's just...here!" Javier had replied.) She held Javier's bat in the stance that he'd shown her, which was not too far from what Clementine had seen on baseball cards as a little girl—one of the very few things she thought every now and then.

"Okay, ready?"

"Yeah!"

"Are you ready?!"

"Y- _Yeah!"_

"READY?!"

"THROW THE FUCKING HEAD, JAVI—"

SMACK!

Clementine glowered at him before looking at the splattered mess on the RV. As he meandered over, analyzing the teeth embedded into the RV, Clementine picked up the remains of the head by the hair. "Javi...!" she gasped. One side of the head was completely flattened by the impact, while the other splintered with its skull. "Look what you did!"

"Wha— That was supposed to be a curveball to the—! Why did it go left like that?!"

"It went right."

"My— _My_ left!"

Clementine shook her head, her hands on her hips; the walker’s head was flopped to the ground. "I don't think we'll be able to find an armless walker with a head like that again."

"Yeah..." Javier agreed sadly. He took off the Baseball cap. "Let's go back. We can find another ball next time..." With their (brief) fun inexplicably ruined, Clementine and Javier moped back into the square, the fire having already burned itself out almost completely. They slinked to the sleeping bags and dragged them into the beige RV. Now laid down on the floor, the door closed (the smartest thing they had done all day, as Clementine remarked), the two stared at the ceiling.

Giddy drunkenness aside, Javier murmured, "You know, Clementine?"

"Yes, Javi?"

"...your smile reminds me of Mariana's." Javier's eyes grew heavy as the drink began to weigh him down.

A few moments passed before Clementine, softly, asked, "Really?"

"Yeah." Javier sighed. "I know you don't do it often, but it's a nice one. Keep it for the people you care about."

She clung onto her hat. "Okay, Javi." Clementine shifted to her side. The drink was slower to get to her, though she felt the weight of it nonetheless. With Mariana on her mind, she whispered, "Night, Javi."

"Night...Clem..."

**— — — — — — — —**

The train, as always, charged across the landscape, guided by its rails. Clementine sat in the car, swinging her legs as she fiddled with her dress. She looked around, wincing; her head hurt like hell. _And_ Lee wasn't around. She sighed and kept her eyes to her hands.

In them was a pistol. So cold. So vile. Yet, at the same time, reassuring. Clementine grumbled to herself, aimed for the racing line of trees, then fired. "Why the hell...?" she breathed as her ears rang. It fired its shot, unlike the couple of times before. Cold, vile, yet reassuring, but ultimately unreliable. Clementine flexed her hand, eyes on the nub. She frowned, puzzled, pinching her flannel that was tied around her waist. "The...hell...?" She stretched her legs. They certainly grew within the past minute.

As a response, Clementine asked the only question in mind: "Where the fuck is Lee?"

She got to her feet, which was difficult task on its own. "Oh— _Shit!"_ She caught herself on the rim of the car's doorway, then pushed off into a stumble. As soon as Clementine was _sure_ that her brain was in sync with the rest of her body, she made her way to the door.

Clementine had the grace of a new deerling with the congruent thoughts of an unsolved puzzle. It took her a moment to turn the handle and open it. And once the door opened, she immediately felt a rush of wind against her. Clementine eyed the engine car through the doorway, still uneasy with her lack of balance.

No Lee.

“Dammit,” she hissed. In one motion, Clementine shoved herself from the door and staggered across to the engine. It thrummed underneath the soles of her boots, and her gaze swept across the blend of trees. Her eyes narrowed, and Clementine leaned against the railing. There were people. Spread out. _Watching_ her. She couldn’t recognize any of their silhouettes—let alone their faces—, but she knew they were familiar. Somehow, someway, they were.

She spat towards the tree-line, too detached and numb to care. Clementine was looking for _Lee._ Anybody else was a waste of time.

Her boots scraped towards the engine room. And…

Clementine paled. She halted at the window, eyes wide. The wasn’t Lee. That— That wasn’t _Lee._

Everything, all at once, slowed. A blizzard began to creep behind her, latching itself onto the train. Enraged screams in the distance swarmed, and her shooting arm spliced with pain as a gunshot barreled through the trees.

And Clementine stared into the engine car, throat knotted tight.

She felt the pounding of her heart deep in her palms, and with every beat, each one of her senses focused. The lull of the train against the tracks blurred. The smudge of landscape grew insignificant. It was only the man driving the train that she saw. The only…stranger—someone other than Lee—who stole her attention.

The longer Clementine stood there, the more she grew weak. The recoil of the pistol vibrated up her arms, deepening the splicing pain, and she trembled at the spot.

“K-Kenny…” was all she whispered.

And the man in the engine room didn’t move. She only ever saw the back of his head until absolutely everything blended together.


	3. Episode 3: Dragon's Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [First Draft] February 11th, 2020  
> [Second Draft, First Edit] April 4th, 2020  
> [Final Draft, Second Edit] November 27th, 2020  
> [Final Edit] February 3rd, 2021
> 
> [36,412 words]

_"And if you gaze long enough into an abyss,_   
_the abyss will gaze back into you..."_

_~Friedrich Nietzsche_

* * *

She shivered. The chill in the air sliced her cheeks like sheets of metal, and Clementine held her arms. She stepped off of the train, only to slip. With uneven breaths, Clementine caught herself with the train's rail.

Ice.

Clementine swallowed, slowly looking across the vast, frozen lake. She couldn't see past the haze of white where land should've been. And when she turned to clamber back on board, the train was gone. Clementine blinked. It had truly left her on her own.

Carefully, she walked on. Clementine winced as the ice crackled beneath her boots, and all she wanted to do was get the hell away. She wanted to find land—a sturdy structure. Clementine stepped forward, eyes over her shoulder, when she heard it: a second set of steps, low and unruly.

She spun around violently. No one. But the second set of steps, they were still there. Clementine frowned. Her heart matched the unsettling beats until she realized they _weren't_ steps at all. Her gaze sunk to the ice in horror. “No…”

They were fists pounding against the ice. Frantic. Panicked. "L-Luke..." she whispered hoarsely. "Luke..."

Clementine feet were flighty. She followed the pounding without thought, until she felt them directly below the ice. Clementine fell to her hands and knees, scrubbing the snow from the surface. "Luke! Luke, I-I— Hold on, please!" she yelled, snatching her flask from her hip. Clementine held it within both hands above her head.

The metal screamed as she bashed it into the ice. Again, and again, and again. The beats slowed by the time her hands were torn from knuckles to wrists. Clementine was unceasing. With a surge of energy, the flask broke through the frigid ice, and Clementine followed once everything shattered beneath her. Her screams were muted below the surface. The water was dark, and once again she was alone.

Clementine swam towards the crater. The air pierced her lungs as she gasped, and Clementine snatched the edge of the ice with a sob.

Once again, she had failed. She was still that stupid kid. She still couldn't save a life. More blood on her hands.

Clementine trembled as her upper body scraped the surface. And as her legs kicked, Clementine gasped in shock. A hand had snatched her ankle. Once it yanked with an inhuman strength, Clementine was forced back under. She kicked at the sodden man with her boot blindly, only to recognize the face. Clementine went ridged as Luke—skin warped with the water's current, and eyes pale as can be—continued to scratch her, tugging her down towards the many decomposed hands that reached for her. All the hands she’d slaughtered.

And there were many.

So. So. Many.

At the bottom, a hellish fire glowed. The flames grew, slithering amongst the water and undead. _Your time is now..._ it hissed. _Your time to join us, Clementine..._

_Hell claims every monster born..._

**— — — — — — — —**

Clementine wrenched herself up from the sleeping bag as a trembling mass. She held herself, and the rivers of sweat that beaded along her temple dripped to her neck. Beside her, Javier groaned, stirring in his own bag. Clementine's exhale was shaken. She clenched her jaw, reaching for her hip before remembering that it was empty.

Her lifeline. She recalled draining all of it the night prior, at the foot of the fire.

With most of her breathing managed, Clementine slowly got to her feet and strode out of the RV door. She blinked in the early sun's light and adjusted her cap. As Clementine walked out of the RV square, she kicked bottles to the side. The pounding of fists haunted her with every stride, and as she stared down the cliff, Clementine was adamant on driving them away. There would never be a night—she swore—that she'd think about that day again.

But Clementine knew that that was a lie.

**— — — — — — — —**

When Javier got up in the early morning, then stepped out of the RV square with the sun barely peaking over the mountains, Clementine's firm brow and unsmiling lips had completely replaced her drunken glee. He rubbed his forehead, lessening the ache. She turned around as he got to her side, pointing down the cliff's edge. "Look. They're safe," she murmured. "We won't have to use the short-cut after all."

Javier smiled. "Would we be able to catch up to them from here?"

Clementine nodded. "Come on, there's a way down." As they carefully trekked down the edge, Javier kept glancing towards Tripp and Jesus; the men hadn't seen either of them and instead continued to follow the street. At the foot of the cliff-side, Javier tripped and stumbled, and his gut reaction was to clutch his stomach. He winced, feeling all of his insides slosh together.

"Oh...mierda." He swayed as he glanced over. "You feel it too, right? It's not just me?" Clementine closed her eyes and nodded. So her firm brow and unsmiling lips _weren't_ out of lone-wolf syndrome; he had the same predicament too. "Fuck."

"Don't remind me," she grunted, walking onto the road.

Javier didn't even want to remind himself of the Devil's concoction: hangovers. At the very least, his head didn't feel _too_ bad. Well...no, actually. When he put more thought on it, Javier felt _worse_. (And sweaty?)

Together, they walked down the road, following the other two whilst evading as much confrontation with walkers as possible. He kept his eyes to the side where the muertos were, and was thankful that they appeared to keep to themselves.

Beside him, Javier noted Clementine's solemn gaze and sorrowful eyes. He knew she had only woken up a few minutes before him—in a cold sweat, trembling. So he decided something. Maybe it was a bad idea, and that _was_ a pattern in his life. Even so, for just a minute, they could forget their fucking aches. Javier grinned as he said, "I got an idea."

Clementine surveyed him with side-eyes. "Oh yeah? And what's— _Fucking, Javier! Put me down!"_ She spazzed as Javier swung her off the road, hoisting Clementine over his shoulders. After a moment of struggling (and laughter), Clementine was perched on his shoulders, watching their shadow of an awkward, tall, hungover monstrosity amongst the tree line. "God...Javi! What the hell?!" she hissed.

Javier chuckled, holding her legs as he walked on. She yelped for a split moment, her hands slapping over his forehead and cheek for balance. "How are you this heavy?! You’re like a midget but you weigh a ton!” He felt Clementine’s glower, though continued with glee: “You sure you actually were _surviving?_ Sure as hell know how to live off the land, don't you?"

Despite his aching stomach—and Javier assumed hers did as well—, Clementine's soft laugh brightened the morning ahead. "You fucking _dick,_ I'm not that heavy! _And_ I wasn’t the one mooching off of a van too!”

"The van you were going to take..."

"Whatever."

In the distance (Jesus and Tripp really did walk fast, huh?), Javier and Clementine spotted the other half of their group pause, staring at them in disbelief. "Wave at them," Javier said, tugging on Clementine's leg.

"Alright, I am," she retorted, her hand having naturally raised anyway. Who what they assumed was Jesus waved back, and then the men began walking towards them. "You know, you can put me down now."

"Okay, okay, fine."

Clementine clambered off. When her feet hit the ground, she staggered to the side, holding her head when it felt like splitting open. "Oh...shit..." Suddenly, she missed sitting on Javier's shoulders. The air was much crisper up there. And less sweaty. Kind of.

"Head?"

She nodded. "I'll be fine. Let's just meet them. We really do have to get going."

Javier glanced at the morning sun, which was now appearing to be much more whole along the landscape’s horizon. "Yeah, we do."

Midway, the four met. Tripp's grin was wide. "Alright! I thought you two little fuckers would make it! And..." He paused, then stared wildly at Clementine. "Two fuckers... Where the hell did you come from, Clementine?"

Clementine shrugged. “Eh.” With a nod to Javier, she explained, “He was getting his ass beat, so I came by and decided to save him."

" _Hey!"_

Tripp barked in laughter. Jesus folded his arms and gave Clementine a smile; he said, "Glad you could join us, kid."

"Anytime," she said.

Javier asked, feigned offense subsided, "So you two are good, then?"

"Gave us hell for a good few hours," Jesus replied, "but we managed to find a large oak to hide out in."

"Yeah, for only a few minutes before a branch snapped..." Tripp sighed, patting his stomach. "Not much to expect, though. We aren't exactly small, are we?"

Jesus raised his hands defensively. "I don't know what you're talking about. I'm as light as a feather."

Tripp rolled his eyes. "Oh piss off," he groaned, "your fat-ass is what broke the damn thing!"

Javier and Clementine grinned at one another as Jesus explained, "It was a simple misstep. That's all. And besides, weren't you the one saying your boots way a ton each?" Tripp gawked, then grumbled in defeat. Jesus flattened his coat with a smile of victory. "Anyway, we need to get going. I don't want that sun to be over our heads too quickly."

Javier nodded, a wash of nausea hitting him. "Right...yeah. Let's go." Wordlessly, Clementine and Javier followed the two men as they recounted the other mishaps that occurred the night before. (Something about a rabbit, and then not a rabbit but a small child walker, and then a whole trampoline they used for cover. Maybe half of that was the hangover talking, though.) Javier held his stomach and glanced at Clementine.

She inhaled deeply, attempting to ward off her own bouts of nausea with cool air. She shared Javier's gaze. It didn't work—and Clementine didn't think it wise to clamber over his shoulders again.

As they continued to walk down the road, Javier thought to the RV camp as a way to take his mind off of other matters. "So..." he murmured, vaguely recalling a certain conversation, "do you...think Eleanor is pretty at all?"

Clementine eyed him carefully. "I mean...I guess she is." She frowned. "...why?"

"Oh, you know—" Javier shrugged— "just curious."

"Javi..."

He rubbed his beard in thought, then clasped his hands together on top of his head. "You don't _really_ hate Eleanor, do you?"

Clementine felt her cheeks warm for no damn reason. "I never said I hated her. She's a bitch, and I don't trust her."

"Uh huh..."

Growing irritated, she snapped, "If you have something to say, fucking spit it out already!"

Javier grinned, allowing the steam to rise off of her for a few more seconds. "It's just, you know, I do remember you saying something about her last night."

"...what?"

"Like...wanting to fondle her boobs—"

"I. Do. _Not!"_ she hissed hotly. Javier snickered. "I don't! I— Stop _laughing!"_

"A drunk man's words _are_ a sober man's thoughts, Clementine," Javier retorted in amusement.

"Oh yeah? I'm hardly a _man,_ and I remember you trying to throw a curveball for the first throw!"

Javier huffed. "Come on, that was funny."

"I— _Fuck, behind you!"_

Javier spun around, snatching his bat and clobbering a muerto as it popped out from behind the trees. Up ahead a few feet, Jesus and Tripp were also taken aback by the small bundle of walkers that had decided _this_ moment was the opportune time to jump them. Clementine, armed with her knife, slashed through another one, then gasped and held her knees. She must’ve swung her stomach out of alignment. "Oh god..." Clementine clenched her jaw, and her eyes slid upwards.

At her side, Javier was leaned against a tree. Once Jesus took care of the last straggler (by knocking its head against the same tree with a forceful kick—to which Javier was too sick to flinch), Tripp held his rifle by the shoulder. "Fucking... Is everybody good?"

"As good as I can be," Javier grumbled, Clementine nodding along.

Jesus remained still and frowned. "There's still one somewhere ‘round here..."

Tripp, with Javier departing from the tree, stared into the bushes. "Yeah, I hear it too. I'll go check it." The two swayed in place, their brains throbbing against their skulls, and their stomachs tossing like a set of angry seas. As Jesus watched them with careful eyes, Tripp stepped between the trees and groaned. He immediately turned away, eyes watered. "God damn," he wheezed, "the fuck happened to _you,_ ma'am?" A shot fired, silencing the groans.

Curious, Jesus, Clementine and Javier wandered towards the walker—or rather, Jesus wandered over while Clementine and Javier stumbled irregularly across the overgrown grass. Somber, Jesus shook his head. "That...is not a death anybody would want," he said.

In the center of their small half-circle laid a walker, eagle-spread, with its long, braided hair curled beside its small frame. From its jugular down to its pelvis, the walker was meticulously split open, almost completely hollow of intestines besides a kidney, both lungs, its heart and a squashed portion of its large intestine. The smell was horrendous, vile, and cruel.

Tripp, who took a few paces back, covered his mouth and nose. Jesus, on the other hand, heaved a long breath and watched the hungover pair. "Are you two doing fair? You look sick."

And indeed they did. As the walker's stench wafted to them, their stomachs jerked, and their skin paled. "Oh...fucking...shit..." Clementine grunted. She slipped off her hat and wiped her forehead, which was beaded with sweat. "I'm... Oh my god, I can't."

She gagged. "Pendeja...no..." Javier slurred, holding his stomach. "Don't, _stop_. _"_

"I can't... I can't..." Clementine was forced on her knees, her baseball cap flopping on the ground beside her. Javier, too, began to dry heave.

"What the fuck? Are you two—?" Before Tripp could get any closer to them, Jesus held out his arm across his chest.

"I don't think you should get closer... They're about to spill out whatever they have."

Clementine planted her hands in the grass beside the walker, hovering over the cavity of the carcass. "Fuck..." She gagged with a scowl. "Fuck...come on..."

"No... _ughf..."_ Javier went on all fours, mirroring Clementine. He shook his head, feeling his skin grow green. His mouth gaped as he stared into the muerto's horrid line of broken teeth. Clementine's next gag was gurgled, and she forced her fingers to the back of her throat. She vomited into the walker's abdomen, forcing the hell-spawn inside Javier to hurl itself up his throat. He heaved, sweat dripping as Clementine continued to empty everything she had. He glared at the dead woman's mouth. "Puta muerto..." he began, preparing himself. "Métete esto en el culo podrido."

He gave into his vomit, the slush pouring through the walker's mouth and down its throat.

Clementine, with the last of it spat out, groaned and fell backwards, her forearm covering her eyes. Her breaths were heavy as Javier continued his rampage. By the time he was done, he slumped over to his side with an odd sigh of satisfaction. Clementine wiped her mouth and grinned. She looked at Jesus and Tripp, who looked equally disturbed; by the looks of their faces, Clementine was also willing to bet that if they had one or two of the crucifixes her mother had, they’d chuck it at both her and Javier—and then the vomit-bucket-of-a-walker for good measure.

"You mind giving me some water, Jesus?"

He frowned. "Not after you defiled this woman's body, no." Jesus glared at Javier as he began to open his mouth. "And _don't_ ask me for bread."

Javier, with wide eyes, stared. He deflated. "Fuck..." _How did he know…?_

Tripp and Jesus glanced at each other, then walked away, leaving the two to pick themselves up. As they were set back onto their designated path—feeling significantly better—, Clementine and Javier wiped their mouths with their sleeves. Their eyes met, prompting them to both smirk in unison. Instinctively, with her mouth parched, Clementine reached for her hip and took out her flask. However, before she could remember she already drained it, Clementine frowned and paused. Clementine jiggled the flask. It was half-full. "Huh...?"

"What?"

"I thought I emptied this." Javier frowned. Clementine sniffed the open lid and gasped, eyes watering. "Oh, that is _not_ whiskey."

"Wha—" The flask was thrusted to him. He sniffed and wrenched away. "Oh my god, that smells like crude oil!" Javier saw the wondering glint in Clementine's eyes. "You can't really be— _Clem!"_

It was too late. Clementine took a swig, swishing it in her mouth before spitting it along the side of the road. She coughed after a few moments, eyes burning. "It...actually tastes fine at first. But _holy fuck,_ it burns on the way down," she croaked. Clementine offered the flask.

Javier shook his head, hands raised. "Nuh uh. Look, I don't remember ever filling that thing up, and I don't know what we put in it. I'll pass."

"Come on. To get the vomit out of your mouth," Clementine said, swallowing the last of that horrid concoction.

"That's probably what got us so hungover!" Javier protested. Clementine and Javier's minor squabble took a pause as they noticed Jesus and Tripp both looking over their shoulders, eyebrows arched.

"You guys were just drinking last night...?" Tripp asked, unamused.

Javier waved his arms. "What?! It was a rough night."

"And we were surrounded anyway," Clementine added.

Tripp growled, "And here we were trying to get five minutes of rest..."

The pair grinned sheepishly, then remained respectfully mute for the next few minutes. It didn't stop Clementine from shoving the flask into Javier's chest. He forced it back. She forced it back again. He forced it back squared. She forced it back cubed.

"Clem, I—"

"Drink. It. We can dump the rest out after," Clementine hissed. Begrudgingly, Javier took the flask and felt the mystery drink slosh into his mouth. He swished it around, finding it oddly sweet, then sour, then— He spat it out with hacks. Javier, feeling awfully betrayed by the alcohol, poured it onto the road as they continued to walk.

He surrendered the flask over, glad to see it stashed away. Javier barely listened to the quiet conversation between Tripp and Jesus, and he pointed his eyes to the ground. "How...about we don't tell Kate or Gabe this? Keep this between us?"

"That drink?"

"And the muerto."

Clementine nodded with a sigh. "Yeah... I think they'd probably not talk to us for a solid month."

Javier chuckled. "Gabe longer."

Clementine grinned, and she rolled her eyes. As she strode forward, Clementine looked over her shoulder with a devilish smile. "Bet."

**— — — — — — — —**

Around the outsized garage Clementine knew well, walkers swarmed. The sun was hidden behind looming clouds, and all shadows were left to be near-translucent. They ravaged the chain-linked fence that Tripp, Jesus and Clementine barricaded with teeth-gritting force. Javier, meanwhile, pushed all of his weight into a jackhammer, opening the main door in several beats. "Come on!" he called through forced grunts. "It's open! Let's go!"

Clementine was the first to take the chance, rolling underneath the gap. Jesus was second, allowing one of the walls to tumble over. Javier watched Tripp, severely anxious. "Come _on!"_

"You get in, Javi! I'll get there!" Javier nodded to himself—just to assure—and ducked inside. With his heart pumping, he watched Tripp in anticipation. The man swung at the few walkers swiping at him before he bolted at an impressive speed. As soon as he slid underneath, Javier kicked at the jackhammer—the only thing holding the garage open. It took five slams of his shoe, and the garage door was slammed closed. The dead scratched, banged and rammed against the door, though, it didn't appear to budge.

With a sigh of relief, Javier gasped. "Hopefully that holds..." Clementine murmured.

"Yeah. Hopefully," he echoed.

They didn't get to relax for long, however. Steps awoke from within the shadows. Clementine whipped around, eyes narrowed. Behind her, everyone tensed.

David brought himself into the light, and his eyes darted across all of them. "I...thought you died. I've been waiting for a few hours, got worried when the sun rose, and—" His eyes were drawn to Clementine, wide with shock. "The hell...?"

Clementine felt the beastly fire in her eyes awaken the festering anger that was quick to boil. Just the sight of him irked her to the core. Good thing his broken nose healed without any scars. Clementine could just make sure it would this time.

Her heels were hollow beats as she walked, the Glock still in her hand. "I have a few questions for you..." Clementine hissed, her words rough and guttural.

As she stalked closer to David, Clementine readied her pistol for another round with a click. Jesus said, "Hey now, don't do anything brash, Clementine."

"Brash..." she mumbled. "Brash?" Clementine pointed the barrel at David's throat, glaring down his narrowed gaze. The man shifted uncomfortably, finding her eerily calm ire far more unsettling than the usual fury of a dragon. "I'm just asking, did you let him turn?”

“Clementine…”

“Did you or did you _not_ let Alvin. Fucking. _Turn?!”_

David shook his head. "I... I didn't have to."

"Wh... What?!" Clementine choked. The sneer that warped the lines of her face was quickly monstrous. “You… You fucking _killed him?!”_

David, cautiously, pushed the gun away with the side of his palm. “No…” Even despite his soft voice, she whipped the pistol back to its target, narrowly missing his jaw. "Look, Clementine, he... He lived. A.J’s alive."

Her heart, it wrenched from one side of her rib cage to the other. Everything ceased to exist. Eyes of golden hellfire burned, and once again, she was wrenched back through years. To a lifetime ago. She couldn't speak, not even when Javier was behind her.

"How...?" he asked his brother. Javier’s words were just as strained as they were the night prior, at the foot of the fire. "Clementine said he was sick. How'd he survive?"

"He's stronger than we thought. Bounced right back," David explained. Clementine stepped backwards, the gun still hovering before her, though lowered towards David's stomach. Her stare unfocused. Her shoulder itched and bit her skin. "A.J's a fighter, Clementine."

Javier watched her as she stared at the ground, so small and lost. And for a moment, he didn’t understand what he was looking at. She was pale and stricken, the fire completely snuffed from her eyes. Clementine was a ghost of herself, in that moment.

Except, realization dawned on Javier with the force of a sledgehammer. She was no ghost of herself. Javier was watching her sobriety creep back to consciousness. And that…was a terrifying thing.

“Clem…” he whispered, realizing how broken the girl actually was. And that she was a fractured whole, and that flask was the string holding everything together.

David continued, still as gentle as he could manage: "It was a miracle. He's alive."

Abruptly, Clementine’s sobriety snapped out of existence. She lifted the pistol and snarled, "I don't believe you. Where is he if he's alive?!"

"I... I'm not the one who knows that for sure," David rushed. "That, that would be Dr. Lingard."

"I— You—" Her words were chopped as much as her thoughts. Clementine pointed her weapon to the ground. "I don't... I don't understand." The sobriety came back, and it engulfed her. She collapsed to her knees, leaning her head into her hands. "He's... H-He's dead. He _died_. _"_ Clementine's eyes sought David's, tears searing her cheeks. "You're _lying_ to me!" she hissed.

"He's alive," David promised. "Clementine, he's alive."

"No, no he's not," Clementine whined violently. Her hands were plastered to the ground as tension coiled between her shoulders. She bared her teeth and shook her head. "He's-not-alive," she then hissed, jaw tight. “He’s not… H-He can’t be. He just…can’t be…”

Everything swung around her.

"Clementine, I'm telling you—"

Her knees were dug into the snow. The warmth of her mouth consumed her.

Javier waved his brother off and said, "Give her a moment, _please."_

"But—"

The screams of a baby, wrenching the metal from her mouth.

" _David_. Not. Now."

Her baby. Her little boy…

"I... Fine, alright." David sighed, relenting. He watched her for a moment, then flicked a switch on the wall. With the garage now completely bathed in white light, Clementine didn’t even blink. She could barely hear David when he said, "Now let's get you supplies, a motorcycle, and you can be on your way."

Everything was just too much. Too bright. So very cold.

"W-What?! But Gabe! Kate! You can't just expect me to leave them!"

 _He can’t be alive. H-He can’t be._ Clementine slowly lifted her head to the brothers, a blazing sun cracked throughout the hellfire in her eyes. _He’s fucking lying to me._

David glowered. "I expected that from you years ago; it shouldn't be different now." He put his hand on Javier's shoulder. "It's okay. They'll be safe and looked after."

The scales of her heart regrew. _He’s lying. He’s lying._

"Yeah," Javier said, shrugging him off, "not without me, you are. I can't just _leave_ them now!"

"Javi—"

"What the fuck is this?!"

Tripp's question interrupted the building argument. The brothers looked towards Jesus and Tripp, who both were staring at the large crates. Clementine, numb as she was, frowned, and she finally got to her feet. "What...is it?" she asked, her voice crackled.

"'Property of Prescott Airfields,'" Tripp read. "This..." He blitzed around, eyes quickly landing on David. "What the actual fuck is _my_ shit doing here?!"

"I don't know," David breathed. "I didn't realize..."

"And look over there," Jesus said, pointing to another section of the garage. "It's not just from Prescott. All of the other allies the New Frontier had." David was left baffled. He blinked, and even Clementine could see that the utter puzzlement that dawned the man was genuine. Jesus, meanwhile, was left suspicious. "How long were you in here for?"

David immediately caught onto his accusation. "I don't know anything with this! This garage is a storehouse for the New Frontier. I've been here for a few hours in the corner—in the dark, remember?—away from _that!"_ he retorted, pointing towards the garage door where several walkers still clawed. "I didn't bother reading everything because it's usually with just our brand!" David spun to Clementine. “She can tell you! That last time I worked with running supplies was with her!”

Tripp paled as he watched Clementine with wide eyes. “Y- _You’re_ fucking New Frontier?!” he snapped, utterly bewildered.

“ _Was,”_ Clementine corrected with a sharp wave of her hand. “Last time I saw this asshole, I broke his nose,” she hissed, forcing David into silence with a glare alone. “Not to mention they stole my _kid.”_

Tripp swallowed and backed away a step, hands raised. “I-I get it… Okay, sorry. Really. I didn’t think.”

She was blunt: “Obviously.” With a drawn breath, Clementine muttered, “But…yeah, David’s right. I’ve been _in_ here a few times. I don’t think we had more than a wall of crates.” With a careful eye, she studied the man. “I don’t like you, and I still don’t fucking trust a word you say. But…I do believe this.”

“Thank-you—”

“Save. It,” she snapped. David thinned his lips and grumbled. “Not until I find out if A.J’s actually…”

“I—”

“David,” Javier murmured, breaking his own silence, “it’s…still too soon for that. I know what you’re thinking.” David folded his arms, exhaled, though nodded. “Anyway,” Javier continued, calmly, “I’m not leaving so easily, and we’re going to have to figure whatever the fuck’s happening here.”

“Fine. Okay. We only have a few hours before I can report back to Joan,” David said.

“Right, and—” Javier froze. He frowned with his eyes, unfocused, pointed to the ground.

Tripp blinked. “Wh—”

“ _Shhh!”_ Javier hissed, waving a hand.

Clementine heard it too. She narrowed her eyes across the room. Amongst the walkers outside, amongst the still breaths of the room, there was...an engine? "David, did you have other people come with you?" she asked, out of curiosity rather than malice.

"What?! No! I—" He heard doors of a truck slam. "Get down, all of you!" he barked, and he grabbed Javier, pulling him to the side by his collar. Clementine ducked out of the way, and her heart thrashed against itself as the back door swung open. She spared a glance and noted four men carrying more crates.

All from Prescott.

From the side, Javier and David nodded, then stalked forward in a crouch. Once catching Javier's eyes for a brief moment, Clementine followed. When her gaze snagged the back of David’s shoulder, she was wrenched backwards through the past many months.

She felt her sobriety struggle against the buzz of her drink.

Her thoughts—through the white noise—were like a pendulum, flowing in and out of reality. As she desperately tried to focus on following Javier, A.J bled through her mind. The alcohol and flask—both had her reality slipping.

In...

_Has he grown? Would he remember me? Is he even fucking alive?! Is David lying?!_

And out...

In a pack, they snuck up on the men around a large table. Javier snapped, "What the hell are you doing?" Caught off-guard, the men whipped around in a panic. Clementine's eyes widened. The man from the junkyard, he was here. The one who killed Mariana. And with Javier just an arm’s length away from her, she could feel his fury rise. Clementine surveyed all of them; they were _all_ from the junkyard.

Mariana's killer—another monster—sneered; he snatched his gun from his hip and fired. David and Javier ducked for cover while the men sprinted away. "AFTER THEM!" David bellowed—though he was far, far away. Dumbly, with her thoughts scattered, Clementine chased after the closest fleeing man with Jesus by her side.

In...

There was a chance. Clementine couldn't believe it. _My boy… A.J, is… Where…? Why…? H-How?!_

And out...

She followed Jesus outside, tracking down the man that had slipped away. Her thoughts were in a million shattered pieces. Clementine's body acted on its own, knocking down walkers that got in their way and slashing their heads with her knife.

In...

 _Could it be true? Could A.J really have survived?_ Clementine didn't know. And as her thirst and sobriety continued to thrash, she could barely register the lives she claimed at that garage. Before long, however, Clementine was simply mindless. The white noise consumed her completely, and she just _did_ without any thought. As blood flecked her skin, and gunfire rang, she could only feel snow clip her flesh, the scales of her heart humming, and her bullet-torn shoulder that ached and ravaged her consciousness.

She wanted a drink. So much. She wanted a drink and hear the screams of a baby—very alive.

**— — — — — — — —**

It didn't take long to reach Richmond's borders, especially since the herd had gotten there first, and then wandered off, collecting stragglers as the mass went. Every once and a while, Clementine wondered how much faster they would've gone if Jesus had stayed with them; Javier wondered if Jesus would make it on his own; Tripp wondered if they were ever going to shut the fuck up about Jesus. Finding a safe section to sneak in, however, _that_ took several hours on its own. Not only had the first (albeit small) wave of the herd wandered about, there were guards to be mindful of. Once Tripp had found a small alleyway—a stroke of luck—, the rest was smooth sailing—five walkers discounted.

As they stalked around a corner, Javier drifted to Clementine's side. Quietly, they talked: "Do you think that A.J is out there?"

Clementine wanted to believe it, that was clear. Her head was still a vat of hysterical confusion, though with a swallow, she managed, "I... Y-Yeah, I don't know. But I have a friend who would be able to tell me, in the medical unit."

Javier nodded with a small smile. "That's good. That's...really good. If, you know, it's true." They continued to crouch along the scattered barrels and cars. "Don't worry, Clem, if he's out there, you'll find him."

"Thank-you." They stopped at the main street, and ducked in unison as guards strolled by. Tripp jerked his chin and darted around a corner. They followed. "And...I heard what happened there when Jesus left. You— Did you really kill Badger?"

Javier gave a long breath, his thoughts on his blood-soaked bat across his shoulders. "Ah, y-yeah. I... I don't think I regret it but—"

"You do."

Javier sighed. The light in his eyes had shifted within the last few hours; Clementine didn’t find the same man that couldn’t kill a walker who looked too alive. "Mariana wouldn't've liked that. She never believed that _we_ are the ones to decide someone else's fate. And, I just…"

Clementine's heart quaked at the sound of her name. She tightened her lips and breathed in deeply to calm the solemn thumps against her chest. "That's...a very old and beautiful way of looking at it."

"Yeah, it is. She never had to kill one of those things, you know? Not Gabe either—alone anyway," Javier said. "Kate and I were always there so, you know, we dealt with them whenever we could."

They halted as Tripp had, and watched him peek out and over a Sudan's trunk. "I guess I wouldn't know. Lee taught me how to shoot a gun and keep my hair short when everything started.”

"Smart man."

Clementine nodded with a gentle, nostalgic smile. "Yeah, he was. He was a professor at a university in Georgia... I guess he made it easier for me to be on my own, and maybe even raise a kid. Though...there were other people with that last part. Like there was Christa too, and—” Clementine frowned, though as she thought more of the woman, her smile deepened. “She taught me almost everything else. How to hunt, skin and cook a meal. Shoot a bow. …keep…a gun on you. Everything else."

“That’s good… That’s all everyone really wants now, you know?” Javier patted her shoulder. "Are you going to go? Find out where he is, I mean."

"Yeah. Now."

He took his hand away and gripped his bat. "Go. See you on the other side."

Clementine grinned and caught Tripp's eye. His head bobbed down the street to a cleared alley. She took his offer, mightily grateful, and darted away. She forced her anxiety and internal tension away, as anyone had to do when venturing alone.

Without looking back, as Clementine navigated through the area, the size of Richmond dawned on her. She knew cities were huge—of course, they were _cities—_ though the way the buildings loomed over her was unfamiliar. In all this time, she had forgotten just how big the human world was.

Once reaching a dumpster, Clementine felt her adrenaline jerk her down, avoiding the wandering guards' attention. As they passed, she took out her flask and brought it to her lips.

Clementine frowned and shook it. Empty. That's right. Turns out a quarter-liter flask was not a lot for a drunk. Not that she _was_ a drunk. Clementine didn't fall asleep or stumble around or... Well, no, she did, but that had— That was rare, you know? She was just...moderately tipsy for every hour—

She growled to herself and tucked it away. That was another priority: refilling the flask. Clementine poked her head from the corner and mentally noted that whichever she came across first—whiskey or Dr. Lingard—would be dealt with then and there. Though, knowing the doctor, alcohol wouldn't be too far.

Clementine hoped so, anyway. Then again, on second thought, perhaps not. After all, as she had said to his face once, he was a bitch when it came to whiskey.

Once the guards were surely gone, Clementine darted down the block. And another. And another. By the time she had gotten near the heart of the settlement, able to peer into what she thought was the center square, Clementine slipped into a building with boarded windows. Inside, she saw the shadows of its residents along the walls, the people belonging to them blocked by a bookcase.

_Shit..._

Carefully, Clementine reached for the door when her eye caught a bottle of...

Oh how God blessed her soul, it was whiskey. Her mouth watered as a grin broke across her lips. It was her fucking day. Her eyes darted from the bottle to the shadows. Clementine crept towards the side table where it sat, which was deeper into the corner, away from the wall. However, it was at the landing of a staircase. Clementine paused, her ears straining for any noise from the second floor. She frowned. There wasn't any voices— _No._ There weren't any words, but there were _voices_. Clementine pondered for a moment. And rhythmic creaks.

And...wait, what did that woman say?

The small of her back grew warm as she listened. It wasn't until her cheeks were hot did Clementine realize that she should _not_ be listening to people in bed. In any case, Clementine knew the coast was clear since they were obviously occupied. She took the whiskey from the table and sat at the last step. Ignoring the lovey-dovey couple, she studied the bottle with her flask at hand. The bottle had been dunked in water at one point in time—or, at least, that was what the smudged ink on the label told her.

Figuring that a _little_ sip couldn't hurt, Clementine took her chance. Her eyes widened with her grin. She looked at the bottle happily. _Apple_. Good God, it was apple.

That was most certainly going in the flask. Clementine didn't even care if the flask was too small for all of the drink, that apple whiskey was _hers_ now.

With a giddy stomach, she slid her flask back to her belt and snuck back out the door with the rest of the bottle under her arm. Curiously, Clementine turned around and read the sign posted beside the door. "'The Skanky Walker Club,'" she murmured, "huh... That...explains a few things." She chuckled to herself as she walked the streets, humming a tune she didn’t quite know—just to celebrate her quick-thinking and accidentally walking into…whatever that place was. Clementine had an idea, though there weren’t any words. Sex place? Sex place. Maybe she’d ask Javi…

Well, actually, _no._ She wasn’t. That was a horrible idea.

Shadows startled Clementine, and she promptly spat the swig of whiskey she damn well nearly choked on. Once skirted around the corner and away from _people,_ Clementine collected her breath. She wished she had her hoodie again, just so she’d be able to hide her baseball cap. Clementine frowned; she didn’t know where it was, to be honest. Probably left it in Prescott.

 _Dammit._ It was a good jacket.

With another swig, Clementine strolled away, reminding herself to keep her calm and _not_ look suspicious. Which ducking out of sight constantly would do. And there were time-restraints, damn it. She didn’t have all day.

So, with her suspicious behavior maintained, it took Clementine an hour or so (and half a bottle of apple whiskey) for her to finally find the medical center.

By that time, Clementine's grin was completely gone, and her constant buzz set ablaze. She felt it in the spring in her step. Dodging the last of the wandering clients (who she assumed would’ve _definitely_ recognized her on the spot, with their brands and all), Clementine finally found the doctor laying in a chair, all alone in an emergency room. The only light in the space came from a candle, and a dim white glow from the counters at the end. _Electricity…_ In a place this size, it was a miracle. No wonder the New Frontier took it over.

She turned back to the doctor. "Lingard?" she asked quietly, her hiss striking the silence. He laughed bitterly, his voice broken and cracked. His bloodshot eyes dragged themselves across the room to her. "Oh...not now..." Clementine scowled. Though she should’ve suspected this ounce of luck to sour; he didn’t even pick up his head when she closed the door behind her.

"Heeyy... Look who's here to talk..." he drawled. "I always thought...that we were the same, Tangerine..."

She rolled her eyes. "We're _not_ doing this right now," she whispered. Clementine strode across the room to the foot of the chair. "Dr. Lingard, I have—"

"You and me...we're both addicts right...? Addicts have to...to...stay..."

"Lingard..."

"...together... If I...ask you...to, to do something, you...would, right?" Dr. Lingard watched her through tired blinks. "You'd...underst..." And, just like that, he was out like a light.

"Uh, Doc?" Clementine snapped her fingers. "Doc...?" She then pinched the bridge of her nose and hissed, "Of course. Fuckin' junkie." She eyed him, then waved her hand in front of his face. “Piece of—” Clementine slapped him across the face. Nope. He didn't even flinch.

Clementine sighed. She was going to be there for a while.

**— — — — — — — —**

She was warm when she awoke, and everything was quiet aside from the tires against the road, and the hum of an engine. Clementine blinked. She felt small, and dainty, and…stick-like. A newborn foal.

She sniffed, then grinned, nestling deeper against Lee. He was all the comfort she needed. Even in the RV, which Clementine had _nearly_ forgotten about it—what with the train and all. And that she easily got car sick. And that camping wasn’t really _that_ fun. And…

Well, that was it. But by Lee’s side, his arm around her shoulder, Clementine didn’t mind any of the shortcomings.

Her eyes slid towards the back table. She only saw the back of Ben’s head—another face she tried to put together, but couldn’t quite remember. Although, she saw every angle and line of Lilly’s face as the woman sat in the corner of the RV, almost in a daze. Sometime stirred in Clementine’s chest, one that she first felt when they were in the RV together, and Kenny—a different one, an innocent one—was driving, and Katjaa and Duck were still alive, but no Carley—

Her jaw tightened as Lilly glanced at her, and Clementine tore her eyes away. She instead focused on Lee’s deep breathing, and just how much of a soft, warm cushion he was.

And that was it. No talking. Just the trees blurred through the windows. The hum of the engine. And the remnants of her first family after the Outbreak, back when they were slowly falling apart…

One of the last quiet moments in her life. So simple. So relaxed and detached from the calamity of the world outside.

**— — — — — — — —**

She awoke with a start. That was...a nice dream. She grinned for a moment, her eyes dancing along the walls. Where was she—

She awoke with a start, though certainly not at Lee’s side. That was...a nice dream. Clementine grinned for a moment, her eyes dancing along the walls. Where was she—

Clementine panicked with a start. She’d actually fallen _asleep_ in the chair beside Dr. Lingard—who was still blacked-out himself. Searching for the source of whatever disturbed her so suddenly, Clementine looked across the dark room, almost getting out of the chair. And that's when it hit her, the sharp ache at the base of her stomach. Clementine pushed against her torso with a fist, which seemed to have dulled the pain.

What the fuck? Did the whiskey poison her?!

Clementine barely moved herself out of the chair before she froze, then she sat back down again. _Don't. Move. Anything._ "The...fuck...?" she breathed. Another dart of pain was shot into her stomach. She groaned and pulled out her flask. Taking her long sip of the morning, realization dawned on her. "Please...please don't tell me this is happening _now."_ Clementine put the drink away, and she slowly stripped herself from the chair.

She couldn't even utter a word. Clementine was having a very good day until this point. Or night. Was it morning? When... _Shit_ , it didn't matter. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, _fuck..._ God, I can't just—" She wrung her fists. Her eyes slid to Lingard guiltily. "Shiiiit... Uh..."

Hide it. Yes, just hide it. He didn't need to see the chair Clementine bled on. And, fucking hell, this was supposed to be a good day with the apple whiskey and all, wasn't it?

Or the thing she was thinking of wasn't actually happening and the whiskey _did_ —in fact—poison her?

Clementine scanned the room for a towel, or another chair, or anything to hide her embarrassment. She grimaced and rushed to the counter. "Come on...there has to be something..." She found medicine, a box of pads with these purple flowers all over them, surgical tools and vitamins. But nothing that would help her!

Clementine nervously looked over her shoulder to the doctor. He still hadn't moved. "Come on..." She continued to search the drawers once again, bottom up.

The door opened.

She couldn't control the gasp that escaped her, nor the stumble away from the counters. "I—" Clementine blinked, almost choking on her sigh of relief. It was just Javier, looking extremely surprised himself. He relaxed, dropping his shoulders...

Clementine narrowed her eyes at his gushing wound. She didn't leave him with a gaping _mouth_ on his arm. "God, Javi, what happened?!" she asked, her aghast stare darting from his shoulder to his eyes.

He shrugged, and he merely glanced at his injury. "Just got into some trouble, that's all. I came by here to get it cleaned but..." He pointed at Dr. Lingard as a question.

"That...needs more than cleaning," Clementine said before her eyes drifted back towards the stupid junkie doctor. "And he's been out of it since I got here."

"So you weren't able to ask him?" She shook her head. "I see. And...you were looking through the drawers because...?"

Clementine grimaced, arms folded. "I-It's not what it looks like, okay? I was just..." She sighed, her gaze held firmly on his shoulder. "We need to stitch that, Javi," she continued, avoiding the question.

Javier strode to her side and watched Lingard. He arched his brow; there was bruise at the peak of his cheek, and a red hand-mark planted across his face. A mark, which, was very suspicious in its size. And shape. And the outline of _fingers._ "So I'm assuming slapping him doesn't work?"

Clementine rolled her eyes. "Just... Just forget that. I can stitch your shoulder up."

He chuckled and wandered towards the counters with her, searching through the top drawers while Clementine the bottom. He paused. "Wait...you know how to stitch it up?"

"Mhmm. It won't be pretty, but I can."

With the cabinet door open, he stared down at her. Clementine, on one knee with a drawer pulled, watched him expectantly. "Like...how?"

“It was another thing Christa taught me…” She brandished her left arm that wore a deep, gnarly scar which ran from her wrist to her inner elbow. He grimaced. "Got bit by a dog and stitched it up myself in a shed," she said simply.

"Uh...with what? Fishing wire?"

Clementine gave a laugh of surprise. "Actually, yeah. And a sewing needle. So yours will probably look better. …I think."

Javier grinned and continued his search. "It better. I still have to be dashing for the ladies."

"I thought cool scars brought in all the ladies."

Cheekily, Javier asked, "You think you'll win over Eleanor with that?"

Clementine, gob-smacked, scowled. She then snapped, "What are you talking about?! You're still not going on about _that,_ are you?!"

"You _did_ say you wanted to grope her boobs, Clem."

"Shut _up._ I was wasted. And she’s a nightmare. _And_ she’s fucking twice my age! _Probably!”_

Javier chortled as her cheeks blossomed red. In the back corner of the shelf, he pulled out a white bottle of pills. Reading the label, Javier perked; now _this_ would certainly help with his wound, especially with Clementine's handiwork. "There's some painkiller here...think it'll be useful?"

"Speaking from experience," Clementine answered bitterly, "not a good idea."

Javier held the bottle and glanced at her, guilt-ridden. "Uh...yeah. Right... I can tough it out, and Kate..." He pursed his lips. "She's...tough...and probably had some already..." After talking himself down from taking the medicine, Javier set it back. "Okay...uh...right."

Clementine felt another jolt of pain and gasped, and she clutched her abdomen.

Javier reached for the painkillers without a second thought; he watched Clementine, worried, and asked, "Do you need them? Is there something wrong?"

"I— No, no I'm _fine."_ She clenched her teeth, the pain burrowing itself deep for a moment. "I just..." Clementine paused once the pain left, then stood up. She wrung her wrist and glanced at Javier briefly. "I...started bleeding. I-I know it's a thing," she mumbled, realization slowly creeping onto Javier, "and I've travelled with women before so— I just... I—"

Clementine screwed her face tight, searching for her words. "W-Why does it happen? I-Is there something wrong with us? Is—"

"No! No, no, no, no!" Javier sputtered in a rush. Clementine jumped at his eagerness to calm her, eyes alert. He swallowed and scratched the back of his neck. "No, it's uh... It's a totally normal thing. It's just you—er... Blossoming into womanhood."

Clementine blinked twice, utterly confused. "'Blossoming...into woman—' Wha...?"

"It's normal, everybody goes through— Well, I mean, not _everybody_. You're the only one in this room that can—" Her eyes darted between Javier and Dr. Lingard. "It— It means you're growing up, and you're becoming a woman and...uh... It's...a... _good_ thing... Heh."

A stretch of silence developed between the two. While Clementine's mind was blank, only replaying the confusing—though ultimately supportive—bundle of words over and over again, Javier's thoughts went haywire. How old was Clementine?! Did he really drink with her?! Did he—

Oh my god, they both admitted to _boob stuff_.

"Oh."

Her simple utterance jerked Javier back to reality. Clementine looked up at him, and in her eyes he saw an inkling of Mariana. An inkling of a girl that didn't know the world like he did, that needed his guidance. Javier breathed in and out slowly; it felt strange seeing that trusting gaze in Clementine, especially within the hellfire of her stare. And what had Eleanor said? Something lurking in her eyes?

Javier relaxed. All he saw was that inkling. "I uh..." he mumbled, "Kate can explain it when we get back. I don't—"

Clementine waved him off. "Don't worry about me. You're the one with the arm split open."

"Uh...right. Yeah." They went back to searching, switching spots. Javier checked the drawers while Clementine opened the small aid kits that littered the back of the counter. Javier opened the second drawer to the bottom and lit up. "Ah! What a coincidence! These'll be perfect."

With her hand on a kit, Clementine asked, "And...what's that?" He pulled out the stupid flowery box she had found earlier. "Those pad-things...?" she asked, voice monotone.

"These 'pad-things' will help you with...you know."

Once again, Clementine simply uttered, "Oh." Javier handed her the box. "Um...thanks."

"Yep."

Clementine set it aside as she opened the aid kit. "And here's what you need right here." She pulled out the sterilized needle and thread, then the alcohol. "Go sit over there," she said, careful to pick a chair that wasn't dirty—or, well, dirty with _her_ blood.

"Alrighty." Javier began to unbutton his jersey before remembering the bat slung over his shoulder. "Ah, here, hold this." Clementine took it and set it down beside the flowery box. As Javier stripped his shirts off behind her, she soaked the cloth in the alcohol. And when he was sat in his designated chair, Clementine strode to Javier’s side.

"Okay...don't breathe," she murmured. Javier held his breath as she dabbed his wound. Other than a minor wince, he didn't move. Clementine frowned in concentration, carefully threading the stitching through his skin. His grip around the chair tightened, and Javier let loose a breath.

As she continued her work, Javier said (if to distract himself), "I... With that stuff before, I'm not really the best at explaining."

"You were fine," Clementine said. "I've had other people try to explain adult stuff to me before, and they _really_ made it weird."

"...what stuff?"

Clementine paused. "Sex stuff."

"Ah..." he breathed.

"Uh, yeah." She tightened the thread, closing part of the open wound together. "It's gross. Especially the dic—" Clementine gagged.

Javier chuckled, nodding softly. “Yeah, it all can be... Like, that doesn’t really go away. It’s kind of always gross, especially now since nobody takes showers anymore.”

“Showers?! You mean people used to do it completely _naked?!”_ Clementine asked, simply bewildered.

Javier winced, and Clementine immediately went back to mending his wound—and patting it, as an apology for tightening the skin a tad bit much during her shock. “Well… _yeah._ And it’s nice—" He paused, frowned, bit through his slight amusement, then turned to Clementine as serious as he could be. “You do know it’s called a penis, right?”

“A what?”

“The _nicer_ term for ‘dick’ is ‘penis.’”

Clementine pursed her lips with a tight brow. “Penis…” She grimaced. “No, ‘dick’ rolls of the tongue better.”

And at that, Javier’s chortles became harder to contain. “I— Okay, okay,” he managed through boyish giggles, “I guess it doesn’t matter that much. Not as much as this— Well, yeah. So, _this,_ it just means you can be a mom, if you wanted. You know? It’s... It's a good thing."

"I...thought I already felt like a mom," Clementine whispered, focusing on Javier's split shoulder. "With A.J... We were all over the place." She smiled and said, "I remember, we were at this ranch house up in...Virginia, I think? Maybe it was Pennsylvania, I don't know. But I found this trunk and...there was a bunch of stuff there. Food. New shoes. A blanket. My first flask. And these little overalls and bandanna I put on him." Javier shared her smile. "He was so cute in it. He looked like a little farmer."

He barely felt the needle splice into and out of his skin. "That sounds nice."

Clementine nodded slowly, cutting the last of the thread with the needle. "Yeah... Everything went to shit right after that, but...you know, it was nice while it lasted." Quietly, she wrapped his arm with bandages.

She stood up, and Javier felt his shoulder. "It always is like that, isn't it?" He analyzed the stitching. "And I owe you one. Thanks."

With a smirk, Clementine quietly remarked, "Add it to the pile." She threw his shirts at him, then tossed the excess materials in the trash. He slipped the clothing back over his head.

Just as he had the last button done, groaning came from the other end of the room. Clementine, alert, watched Dr. Lingard. "He's awake," she murmured.

Javier followed Clementine to the foot of Lingard's seat as the man groggily blinked himself awake. He stared at the two, processing. "Ah... Javier. I thought you were...rottin' in a cell someplace with your brother..." He frowned. "Did he make it out too?"

Javier nodded, though said, "Joan took him. I don't know if he's alright."

"Poor bastard," Lingard mumbled. "Joan's...she's not one to cross. She'll... She'll be searchin' for you, you know." He lazily gazed to the side. "Oh... And so you too, Clementine... She'll— She'll be searching for you too."

Clementine scoffed. "She can try," she snapped bluntly. "I'm only here for one thing. Lingard... A.J... Is he, is he alright? Is he actually alive?"

The doctor slowly blinked. "Uh, yes... Yes, he is..." He rubbed his right eye with the palm of his hand. "Thanks to David. You, you know, he really stuck out for 'im."

"David?!" Clementine clenched her jaw. "What do you mean _David_ did?! Why— Why'd he tell me to come to you to know where he is?"

"Oh, so that's it..." Dr. Lingard groaned, sinking into the back of his chair. "Yes, David did raise A.J for a while there...after he got better." He choked on his weak chuckle, and he pounded on his chest with a fist. "But he sent him away for better people. You don't have to worry about him no more."

Clementine felt the buzz throughout her body seize, and a fiery jut of anger sent her fist down on the surgical table. The syringe and capsule that rested on its surface rattled. "Just tell me where he fucking is! I need to know, Lingard, he's the only fucking thing I have to live!"

Dr. Lingard paused, watching her with mournful eyes. "Addicts...always understand each other..." he whispered, almost to himself. His eyes switched between Javier and Clementine. Slowly, he picked up the syringe and capsule, and drew the vibrantly-colored liquid through the needle. He dropped the emptied capsule, then stared at the branded symbol on the back of his wrist. "You know...David was the one who saved me. All I wanted...was to die. But...he— _He_ got me to care about people. About myself...this damn place. I could be a doctor again." Dr. Lingard rested his head against the chair. His bloodshot eyes lingered on her for a long moment. “Same as you with that boy, am I right?”

The silence that radiated off of Clementine was unnerving. Javier watched her, apprehensive, as his throat knotted. “Shut the fuck up. I don’t care about that right now,” she hissed.

Javier swallowed. That wasn’t a dismissal.

Regardless, Lingard hummed. “Right… Right. And...with him gone, there's nothing... For you, the boy. For me, David…"

For whatever reason, that snapped Javier from his brief stupor. He shook his head and replied, "Hey, don't say that. There's always something to live for, even if you don't realize it yet."

"Right...right, that's— That's funny." He held up the syringe. "We'll have a deal... Kill me, and I'll tell you where the boy is."

Javier was numb as the doctor slid the syringe into his hand. "I..." He stared at the needle with a stern brow.

Clementine, her eyes kept to the chair, said, "Javi... We— We have to do this. I can't lose A.J..." She looked at Javier, and the uncertainty in his eyes. "Javi?" He frowned. His hand began to tremble. Clementine swallowed. "I can do it," she whispered, sliding the syringe from him. "You don't have to fight in all of my battles."

"I... Okay," Javier stuttered.

She held Lingard's arm, and felt his excitement and relief through his skin. He watched her, his own angel of death.

Clementine put the tip of the needle against his flesh. Her eyes were drawn to his bloodshot ones. "So, where is he? Where's A.J?"

Lingard gave her the barest smile she had ever seen him give. "McCarroll Ranch. It's... It's a few miles west of here," he said, adding, "Thank-you, Clementine."

Clementine hesitated, a knot forming within her throat. "He's...” The distant screams of a baby played in the back of her mind. “He's actually alive."

The needle sunk into Dr. Lingard's arm, and the vibrant liquid was injected into his body. He rubbed the spot when she pulled away. "And, and be sure to take care of afterwards. I don't— I don't want to become one of those things." He relaxed and leaned against his seat. "Now...do be careful 'round here. Joan...she'll be searching for you—and your friends. You... You better hope she...doesn't...find...y'all..." The life drained away in his eyes, leaving him slumped in the chair.

Javier leaned forward, and he gently pressed his fingers against the man’s throat. His voice was low: "Dead... He's dead." Clementine reached for her knife, expression solemn. "No, no... I can do this," Javier promised. Clementine held back. Javier was handed her knife; he aimed, and said, "For you, buddy. I'm sorry." Clementine flinched once the blade dug into the doctor's head. Javier pulled it back out and wiped it on his jeans. He handed the knife over. "Come on, let's go. Gabe and Ava should be waiting not too far from here with weapons."

Clementine nodded and followed him out the door.

They walked down the hall, quiet. Their steps were out of sync, something that Javier thought was odd; they were usually on the same page, right? Or, at least, since they met a few days ago. _Hell, it has only been a few days, hasn’t it?_ Javier pursed his lips at the thought, turning the corner towards where Ava and Gabe waited. "They should be in one of these..." Javier's sentence died off once he realized Clementine wasn't right at his side. "Uh, Clem?" He turned around. A few paces behind him, she stood, a hand covering her eyes and the other wrapped around her waist. "Hey..." Javier whispered, stepping closer.

"H-He's...alive, Javi," she whimpered. Clementine removed her hand from her tearful eyes. "H-He's actually alive... My boy, he's alive," she cried, and she slowly sunk to her knees.

Javier slunk down to her level and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. He felt her grasp his jersey, melting into his embrace with trembling hands. "I know... I know..." he cooed softly. "It's okay, just... Just let it all out."

"H— He's alive," Clementine repeated. "I can't... I-I can't..."

"It's okay. It's okay." For a long few minutes, they remained uninterrupted in the dark hallway, holding each other tightly. Javier felt a _fraction_ of his heart—only one of the larger pieces that broke away when he buried Mariana—become whole again. He smiled to himself. "Does...this mean he's my cousin?"

Clementine's shuddering breaths became ones of cracked chuckles. "You...moron." She pulled away, wiping her eyes. With a shake of her head, she muttered, "Yes. This means he's your cousin."

**— — — — — — — —**

They were silent as they listened to Javier and Gabe’s idle conversation. A mutual silence—no words needed. Clementine was sure Ava could feel the erratic thoughts that plagued her, and that—at the same time—everything was numb. White noise. They glanced at one another, nodded, then looked away.

Down the halls, around some corners, and the conversation ahead of them grew quiet as well. Clementine wondered if Ava knew _she_ knew about A.J. Maybe. Ava was always good at seeing right through her. That, or maybe Clementine was easy to read.

Either way, for once, she wouldn’t have minded the unnecessary conversation. Not that they ever did, during those few moments. But, Clementine wouldn’t have minded at all.

And it puzzled her, if she was honest. Not in a bad way though, no…

Perhaps it was because the clouds had lifted after so many months.

**— — — — — — — —**

As they walked towards the room with Gabe and Ava leading the way, Javier jerked his chin. "You can go and talk to Kate about...this when we get in there," he said, unsure of the words coming out of his mouth. "I'm not great at explaining this sort of thing, and she can...er...help you out." He held the handle for a moment and added, "And she's a good person to talk to. She doesn't get..."

"Embarrassed?" Clementine finished.

"Y-Yeah. Well, I'm not—" Javier stopped himself as Clementine arched her brow; he wasn't kidding her. He grinned meekly and opened the door. "But she will help, I promise.”

"Thanks," she mumbled quietly, walking towards Kate's room. Hand on the handle, Clementine took a deep breath before turning it.

Clementine shut the door behind her with a soft click. In the bed was Kate—who was holding her side, previously counting the cracks in the walls. As Clementine came in slow, Kate was grateful to be torn away from her mind-numbing activity. "Hey, so I see you and Javi made it back alright," Kate greeted. She gestured towards the armchair beside the bed (which had definitely seen better days, with its torn fabric and all).

Clementine stood at the side of the bed and eyed the chair. She, softly, rejected: "I don't...think that's a good idea."

Kate blinked. "No?"

"Um...yeah...no," Clementine mumbled. She swayed for a moment, then said, "Javier told me...to see you in private about something."

"Really?"

She nodded. "Yeah. I...um... I started bleeding this morning in the doctor's office, and..."

Kate's smile was warm and somewhat humorous. "Oh, I see. And you told Javi?"

Clementine shrugged. "Yeah, when he got there," she told her. "He said I was...'blossoming into woman-hood' or something and gave me these." She took out the box of pads from behind her, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. Especially while Kate just giggled to herself.

"How sweet of him, even if he can be an idiot," she said. Kate watched Clementine for a moment with a sudden thought. "How old are you, Clementine?"

The question took her by surprise. Not because of the moment or the question itself, but Clementine realized that her answer wasn't immediate. She had to search for it. "Oh... I don't really know," she admitted. "What time of year is it now? Like, season...?"

"Beginning of fall?"

Clementine frowned in concentration. "So..." She counted the years that had passed, and said, rather unsure, "Fourteen? Nearly fifteen? I think. I-I’m probably off by a year."

"Really?" Kate said, more out of wonder than anything. "I only asked because you seem a lot older than that; hell, I thought you were a few years older than Gabe."

"And he's...?"

"Turning sixteen in a few months," Kate answered proudly. Clementine nodded, gingerly setting the small box down on the nightstand beside them. "How much of this stuff do you know?"

"Stuff?" Clementine asked, staring at Kate blankly. "I mean, I know women bleed sometimes."

"Yes..." Kate agreed slowly, "but that's just a part of it."

"A part of what?"

Kate sighed, waving her hand lazily towards the armchair. "Go and have a seat. It's not like a little blood will hurt it. And besides," she said, "I wouldn't be surprised if a muerto died in it." Clementine made a face, though sat in it all the same—at the edge. "Now," Kate continued confidently, "what's happening to you is a 'period'. It usually happens once a month for a week or so if you're healthy and eating right."

"Okay..."

"And it allows you to have a baby," Kate explained.

"A...baby?" Clementine shifted uncomfortably trying to imagine herself with a swollen belly—in short, she couldn't. "I thought..." she said with a furrowed set of brows. "I thought that people made babies from sex."

Kate nodded, sitting up in the bed. She winced, clutching her side with tender hands, though braved a comforting smile nonetheless. "Yes."

"What does this...period-thing have to do with sex? I don't— Javi even said something like that and it makes no sense. And naked and _ech."_

“Oh god. What else did he say?”

Clementine’s expression skewed into one of thought. “That I should say ‘penis’ instead of ‘dick?’”

Kate snorted, shook her head, and laughed, “Oh that hypocrite. Don’t listen to him, _I’ve_ never heard him say ‘penis.’”

“Oh,” Clementine murmured with a light smile. Though it was quick to falter. As she pondered, she asked, “But…what— Why… Why does this happen?”

Clementine kept her eyes on Kate, eager to understand. And Kate made sure that she would answer her questions. (What was she going to do instead, stare at the wall some more?) "Basically, when you get your period, it means you've become sexually mature." Clementine kept her eyebrows steady and low, and listened with great intent. "Women have eggs, and when they're ready, they travel inside her and wait until she has sex to make a baby." The more Kate explained, the more confused Clementine appeared. "But if that doesn't happen, then the egg will leave the body during her period."

"Oh," Clementine mumbled. She fidgeted with her hands, twiddling her thumbs. "When does the egg come out?"

"Whenever you're bleeding."

She pressed against her stomach as it ached once again. Clementine imagined an egg moving inside of her, knocking against her sides. "But what do women do when it comes out?" she asked.

Now it was Kate's turn to be thoroughly confused. "What?"

"The... The egg? Do we just throw it away?"

"No, not really," Kate said. "We can't see it, it's very small. We can only see it through a microscope."

"A micro-what?"

"A..." Kate blinked, her hands hovering over her lap as she tried to explain. "You know, a microscope. In science labs...?" The amount of puzzlement that blanketed Clementine's face reminded Kate of pure innocence, something far rarer after the hungry dead began to walk. "From school...?"

Clementine shook her head. "No. The last thing we did was when Mrs. Penny let us keep caterpillars as pets," Clementine explained, a youthful smile eradicating all of her scars and lines of stress, "and then we let them go when they turned into butterflies!" She then paused, the fragment of her childhood vanishing as quickly as it had blinked to life. Clementine didn't realize she remembered _anything_ from elementary before the apocalypse.

Kate noted her slight dismay. "Well, was it a fun day?"

"Yeah...I think. I remember letting them go, anyway," Clementine answered. "You never find them anymore, you know? Butterflies."

"Yeah, I didn't think about that... I forgot about them, actually. There's flies though. Always those damn flies." Kate paused. “I guess if you’re fourteen or so, you would’ve only been in first, second grade, huh?”

“…yeah. That’s all the school I got.” Kate’s expression was remorseful, and it shied Clementine away. Though, she nodded and glanced at her stomach again. She pressed with her curiosity-driven interrogation: "But the egg then... Why does it hurt if it's not that big?"

"Not that big? Clementine...were you thinking about a chicken egg?!" Clementine shrugged, lips pursed into an awkward smile. Regardless, Kate began laughing. Uncontrolled. Volumed. Her joyous, carefree laugh was something she hadn't felt in a while (sober)—the last time was years ago with Javier in their van. It felt nice to laugh, even if she needed to quit; Clementine was visibly worried, staring at her in bewilderment, and her bullet-punched side hurt. "Ow...ow..." …like… _a lot_ hurt.

Clementine folded her arms. "That's what you get for laughing..." she muttered with a hint of tease.

"I know, I know," Kate said. "It's just...Clementine, it's not like chicken eggs. They're too small to see."

It had been a while since Clementine blushed to the point she did then. Although, with Kate's endearing giggles, Clementine chuckled quietly. "Well, I got that now, thanks." As they shared another laugh, Clementine felt a question bubble to the surface, one so far left field for her and yet...so _natural_. Once settled down, she fidgeted in the chair and held her hands together. "W-When... Uh... Kate?"

"Yeah?" Kate answered, her voice soft as she waited for Clementine to brave her question.

The more she thought about it, Clementine felt her face grow hotter—more so than a minute or two prior. She was glad that Kate was laid-back, unlike the few others that had a conversation like this with her; even then, though, she was never told about the period-thing being tied to _eggs_. Oh how she missed the days when all there was were the kissy-stuff things. "So...er, with...sex... Does it...matter who it's with?"

"As long as he loves you, it—"

"No, no...that's— That's not what I meant," Clementine rushed, flustered. "I mean... Can—" She shrugged, her hands following her shoulders loosely. "Can two...women have...er, sex?" Kate was left surprised, not expecting that from Clementine—especially from observing Gabe's building feelings for her, and his constant worrying over his beanie. "I mean, I know it's usually a man and a woman but...I don't— I don't know if I..."

She frowned. Clementine didn't know if she wanted it with a man. It wasn't a _bad_ thought, though it wasn't her concern either. There was only indifference; but women...nobody _told_ her about that. It was outright avoided during some painfully awkward conversations.

Before Clementine could add on, Kate said, "Yes, they can." She tilted her head to the side. "Do you...like girls, Clem? If you don't mind answering."

"I...uh..." Clementine swallowed. "I mean...maybe? I don't know. I just... Do... How would you know that?"

Kate's smile was motherly. "You know, Mariana asked the same thing when she was really little. 'Kate, Kate, when would I know I like boys?' And I told her that, if you have to ask, you probably already know." She shrugged. "Maybe...it was different then, before everything went to shit. Maybe it was easier knowing and learning these things. But, you'll know, Clementine, you'll know. You'll notice more things that you like, you'll feel new things. It's not an easy thing to teach because most adults don't know what they're doing."

"Oh. Okay." Clementine scratched her neck and drew her eyes towards the end of the bed for a moment. "But does it feel like anything?"

"Intense," Kate answered immediately. "It's one of the best feelings when you're with the right person, Clementine—whomever he or she may be for you," Kate then explained. Clementine suddenly felt a rush of shame; she immediately thought back to the junkyard. Mariana. Her smile and her words, how they made Clementine feel those strange things. Clementine didn't feel it appropriate to say anything. Kate wasn't finished, however, breaking her away from her thoughts: "Though, I'd say it's second to being a mom. I know...I'm not Mariana's or Gabe's mom—or yours—but it's a good feeling."

Clementine nodded, finally on the same page.

"I know what that's like," she whispered, her throat tight. Clementine rested her head on her hand, reaching for her back pocket with the other. She took out one of A.J's scribble-drawings—the only one she had—and showed it to Kate. Immediately, the woman grinned with a soft laugh. "My little goofball drew that after...I had to say goodbye."

"Where is he now?" Kate asked, and she handed back the drawing.

Clementine stared at the paper. "McCarroll Ranch. I think I know where that is... It’s further west." Her eyes burned and a tear dropped. As she rubbed them, Kate reached over and stroked her shoulder. "I thought he was dead for so long. He got sick, so I became a part of this place and... They kicked me out after I stole medicine for him. But..."

"It's okay, Clem," Kate murmured, embracing her despite her still-healing wound. "You're very protective, aren't you? You'll get him back."

"I know, and I will. After we get out of this hellhole, I will."

After a moment of silence, Kate pulled away. "Now," she sniffed, "how about we figure out those pads?" Clementine chuckled quietly, her eyes wandering towards the box.

While Kate started to open the box, Clementine said, "Thank-you...really. For not making all of this so _weird."_

"It shouldn't be," Kate replied. "It's just a part of life. And, in any case, you probably need to know about this stuff more now than back then." She analyzed the box. Clementine leaned in curiously. "Now...okay..."

Yelling erupted from the other room. Clementine and Kate both narrowed their eyes at the door. "YOU'RE THE ONE WHO FUCKING SHOT HIM, JAVI! YOU AND CLEM—"

"I DIDN'T KNOW WHAT TO DO, AND YOU KNOW IT!"

Clementine swallowed. She promptly avoided Kate's gaze. As the shouting continued, however, she slid her eyes to the woman. Kate's lips were pursed, focused on the door. Upon realizing Clementine was nervous, she murmured, grimly, "Javier already told me—briefly. I... It's fine, Clem, it wasn't your fault."

"I-I know, just...when?"

Kate furrowed her brows, then shook her head slowly. "You were gone, I think we were heading to the main gate. With my side, I definitely I missed a lot of the things he said. Javi was in a panic." Kate looked at Clementine, curious. "What did happen?"

"Conrad, he—" Clementine held the brand on her arm through her sleeve. "He found out I was a part of the New Frontier, and Javi tried to protect me, but things escalated and— Well, another Eli."

"Eli?"

Clementine felt her stomach slosh. "Oh, uh...yeah..." She fidgeted. "Nobody...told you _that?_ I...accidentally shot a man the night before. Javi and I slept in a cell."

Kate groaned, resting her forehead in her palm. With another long sigh, she mumbled, "You really are trouble, aren't you?" Clementine's shrug was sheepish. Kate shook her head, and something like a bitter, humored grin began to spread. "This is a shit world," she said as the room quaked, the front door having slammed shut with heavy boots stomping down the corridor. "Everything can fall apart just like that. No matter what you do."

"I...yeah." They remained silent in the room for a long time, Clementine absent-mindedly reading the flowery box as Kate counted the cracks in the walls.

**— — — — — — — —**

"Okay, so we get that truck and then we wait for your call?"

Gathered in the kitchen were Javier, Ava, Eleanor, and Gabe (off in the corner of the room, arms folded), with Clementine and Kate finally out of the room. Clementine watched Eleanor for a moment, pulled in two separate directions: a giddy irk at the base of her stomach that she _finally_ understood (and hated; Eleanor was a fucking _bitch,_ yeah?), and a rush of caution once she saw something stir relentlessly behind Eleanor's eyes.

"What about a truck?" Clementine asked.

Javier eyed her over his shoulder with a knowing look. Clementine raised her hands dismissively. He answered, "It's for getting all of us out of here with David after Joan's little ceremony."

Ava nodded. "Right." She looked out of the window, the full moon just rising. "You better wait a few hours, though. There are still many people awake on shift now. And the further out you go, the more people tend to sleep on their shift at night."

"That's helpful to know," Javier said, adding, "thanks."

"And good to hear," Clementine murmured. "I think everybody needs some rest."

Ava said, "Yeah. You better. There's a lot at stake tomorrow, and it's best to do that with a clear head." She backed away from the group, towards the front door. "Anyway, I'm going to Joan. I'll keep an eye on things, okay?"

"Right, thanks," Javier said, the rest of the group murmuring along.

Gabe sought to catch Clementine's eye as she meandered towards the couch at the corner of the room, stretching. The others sat at the dinner table, further discussing plans. Gabe felt the tension from the table, and he turned away from it eagerly. "Hey, er, Clem!" She looked around. "Oh...um...when Javi and I went to the armory, I saved you this." He offered her a pistol.

Clementine, answered, "It's fine, I have another." Once Gabe was visibly disappointed, she felt guilt rest on her shoulders; did she always have to do that? "Well..." she added, "I guess I need a spare too." Gabe brightened and eagerly handed her the weapon. "Now, I'm going to go take a nap on the couch, so..."

"Oh, goodnight."

She chuckled and shook her head. "I'm only going to be asleep for an hour or two." She sat on the couch. "But, whatever, goodnight." Clementine leaned back, tucked her flask within her arms, and tipped the bill of her cap over her eyes. With a sigh, just like that, Clementine fell asleep.

Gabe kept his eyes on the flask she held and frowned. He turned around, almost surprised to find Javier by his side. "Uncle Javi?" he asked quietly.

"What's up?"

He watched her for a second. "Why...does she carry that thing around? Doesn't she know it's bad for her? Like the weed you and Kate smoke."

Javier's expression grew sheepish, then thoughtful. "Yes, it is. Why do you ask?"

"Well, aren't we gonna do something?" Gabe narrowed his eyes, and turned to Javier. If Javier was _truly_ a friend to Clementine, enough of one to shoot a man over, then... "For her?!"

His uncle sighed, then shook his head. "Come over here. We can give her some space." They strolled into the kitchen, and Gabe constantly looked over his shoulder. Behind the counter, Javier took a knee and rested his hand on Gabe's elbow. Gabriel's fist clenched, but he let the hand stay. "Now," he breathed, "there are...some things you don't quite understand, that I've—me _and_ Kate—have really never told you. And...I know your heart is in the right place. I know you're trying to do the right thing, and you're a lot like your dad in that way. But...Gabe, before I tell you what I have to tell you, you need to keep yourself in line. Control your impulses—something that David has trouble doing."

Javier swallowed, grateful that he maintained Gabe's undivided attention. "I know she's your friend, Gabe, and she's mine too. And...last night, I got to know her very well, probably a lot more than everybody else in this room combined."

"From just a night...?"

"It...was a long one," Javier replied. "Now, with Clementine...what she's experiencing is something that I'm glad you don't understand. It means you're still a kid." Gabe frowned and crossed his arms, pulling away from Javier's hand. His uncle relented, and he rested his knuckles against the ground. "You are, Gabe, yet you are close to being a man too. But Clementine, the things she had to do, the things she experiences, she hasn't been a kid for a long, long time.

"Sometimes adults go through life and hit a low. So they turn to something for support. Drinking. Smoking. Drugs." Javier gave a bitter laugh. "Gambling... It's to avoid a big problem in their life."

"But what about _family? Or people?!"_

"Gabe..." Javier murmured through clenched teeth, "enough with it. It is done."

He tightened his jaw, a hand firmly planted on his beanie; begrudgingly, he let Conrad go—for now. Gabe pressed, "You don't need to do all that stuff. Fuck drinking. Fuck all those drugs!"

Javier nodded slowly. "And I agree one-hundred percent there, buddy. I do. It's just, that's not always that obvious." Gabe frowned. The concept of not wanting _family_ was foreign. He worked his jaw and watched Javier with minor contempt. That was right. Javier wasn't always around, was he? "And...with Clementine, this is something she will struggle with for the rest of her life. Unlike me, her issues aren't out of selfish reasons or money."

"So? That... That means we have to help her! We can't just—" Gabe struggled to find his next few words. "We can't just let her do that! It's not right. She needs us!"

"Gabe," Javier warned, "buddy, keep your cool, remember? Right now, there's not a lot we can do—"

"Bullshit," Gabe whispered. "We need to help her. Just...we can take it away—"

" _Mijo,_ listen!" Javier hissed. "No, that is not how that works. Gabe, I know you're trying to help, but that is going to cause a lot more problems. Instead of fighting _with_ her, you will be fighting her _and_ the alcohol." He sighed heavily. Javier remembered the fire, before the rum was shared. The way her voice crackled with the flames, and how her eyes surged with the beast within them—warmed by the light. “She’s not in a good way, I know you see that. I know. But you need to understand that… She…”

Javier bit his lip and frowned. The words he desperately needed were slow to come. He swallowed, and said, "Clementine has to make that first move. If you do that for her, I-I don’t know what she’d do—”

“I can handle it!” Gabe hissed. “She’s my friend, and I know she wouldn’t ever hurt me!”

“Gabe, _no!”_ Javier snapped. Everything rushed out of him: “We met at gunpoint, okay?! She was robbing me when I still had my hands bound together! I was able to talk my way out of it because I saw there was still good in her, but I was still _scared_ of her, do you understand?! It’s why I was willing to give up our van so quickly!”

Gabe folded his arms through his bewilderment. He tried several times to respond, but found that…he couldn’t. Javier tightened his jaw and waited; he knew he startled his nephew. After a moment, Gabriel mumbled, “That’s not… She’s better now. I can still help—”

Javier’s sigh was gentle and sympathetic, but he raised his hand. “You can't think of her as someone to fix, Gabe. The only person in the world that can fix Clementine is Clementine,” he murmured.

"But—"

"You've got to trust me on this. When the time presents itself, _then_ we can help her. Right now, all we can do is make sure she doesn't end up killing herself because of it."

Gabe's thoughts whirled. Kill herself?! Where the fuck did that come from?! He didn't know. He always thought all alcohol did was make a person erratic. "What?!" He whispered, each word punctual, "But she needs family! She—"

"Clementine _is_ family, Gabe. She already is," Javier said. "We just need to be there for now. And...when she asks for our help, we'll give it to her."

"But what if she doesn't? When could we step in?!"

Javier nodded. "That's always the question, isn't it?" He furrowed his brows. "There will be a time, though. Maybe it won't be as obvious as her directly asking, but there will be." Javier stood up. "Now, you can go and look after her, okay? I'll be over there at the table."

"O-Okay..." As Javier left, Gabe lingered in the kitchen. He held his elbow and looked at Clementine. And slowly, he walked towards her and sat in the chair across from the couch, easing the light tremble of his hand with a firm grip.

**— — — — — — — —**

She raced across the playground, chasing the butterflies as they fluttered from the teacher’s hands. Her fellows were faceless, and their voices were mute. But it didn’t stop her, no. The butterflies were dazzling. The colors of their wings were mesmerizing, and she was bewitched by the shapes of every one of them.

And she followed them butterflies through the streets, laughter abound. Her chest felt lighter than it had for many, many years. Road to road, house to house—it all blended together before she ran through the pastures. The horses neighed and bucked and tossed their heads excitedly as they galloped alongside her, awed by the butterflies as well.

By the time the pasture’s fencing came, she flew over them with ease, leaving the horses to whinny behind her. The butterflies, their colors lost saturation underneath the daunting sun. As she slowed, the little girl’s laughter quieted.

A breeze clipped her cheeks as her hazel eyes looked on. What she found was a wheat field that was vast and never-ending. She swallowed, and to her side sat an innocent tree. The butterflies fluttered into its branches, melding along the wood. By the time she got to its base, there were only leaves. No mesmerizing, bewitching wings to be found.

She looked around, and—slowly—the little girl sat down on the log that rested beside the tree, and waited.

**— — — — — — — —**

Clementine, for the past few hours, hadn't budged, her flask within her crossed arms and cap tipped over her face. Gabe watched her from his own chair, eyes resting on the flask. Gabe's conversation with Javier came to mind, though he frowned. His father always told him to never take his uncle's words as truth. And that he was a coward behind all of that suave charm. He clenched his fists. But Javier had said... Still, if he couldn't see _himself_ drink or smoke, Gabe thought Clementine wouldn't need to either. Yes, she wouldn't need to. Surely.

_The plains were calm, a façade masking the morbid reality of the world. Clementine sat alone on the log with the single oak tree shading her. Across the acres and on top of a rolling hill peak were two figures. She squinted. The figures stopped. Before Clementine stood up to follow them, she heard a twig snap behind her._

Gabe stood up and began to walk towards the couch. A floorboard groaned underneath him. He cringed, and Gabe snapped his attention to Clementine. She only stirred and gently rolled a shoulder.

_Clementine turned around, her tight grasp around her knife. A small girl in a yellow dress clutched the trunk of the tree, eyes wide. A cold tremor ran up Clementine's spine. This girl… When did anybody come across little girls anymore? "Oh...um...hi there. What are yo—" The girl backed away and ran. "Wait!" Clementine reached for her. "Wait, I'm not..." As she disappeared into the tall grass, Clementine finished her dying sentence: "...going to hurt you."_

Her fingers fidgeted around the flask as Gabe reached for it. He paused, his gut twisting sourly. Maybe Gabe shouldn't. "Clementine...?" Was it a dream? Or was she finally getting up? "Are you awake...?"

_The urge to tear through the golden grass was all too much for her. Clementine soared across the open fields after the girl, swiping and hacking away at the farmland. "Wait! Come back! Where are you going?! Who— Who are you?!" The girl didn't answer. Clementine didn't really expect her to: the little girl was much afraid of her to answer. "Wait!"_

_When the first fleck of snow clipped her cheeks, Clementine shivered. Then the chill multiplied. Down her neck. Across her arms. Through her legs. Clementine shielded her eyes as a blizzard swarmed around her, its jagged fury biting her skin. From her arms, Clementine peered into the snow. She spotted the silhouette of the girl. With her throat knotted, she didn't call out._

Gabe stood over her, awkwardly. He scratched the back of his head. "Come on...it's not that hard. Just...think of _something,_ Gabe!" he hissed to himself. From the other room, through the kitchen, he heard Javier and Kate talking to Eleanor. He kept his voice low. "Just...okay, just slip it out and get it away from her and...then... Yeah, and then she'll not find it, not need it and..." He pursed his lips, frowning. "Yeah. Like...cold turkey." Gabe nodded.

He didn't heed Javier's warning. What did his uncle know? _Javier_ was the one who gambled his life away. A coward, sympathizing with a girl who he'd rather have on his side than as an enemy—which Gabe didn't mind, of course. Javier was a _coward;_ he may have cared for her, but Gabe _knew_ they could do something to save her. He knew—and felt, too—that Clementine was far more than a girl to just keep content. She needed to be happy and _clean._ And Gabe would help by making the first step. The step Javier couldn't make. The coward. Yes, yes... _coward_. The word replayed in his head like a broken record. Coward. Coward. Coward...

_Instead, Clementine charged after her. It wasn't until Clementine stumbled over a hard piece of junk did her chase end. The carcasses of cars littered the road. On all fours, she panted in the snow with great exhaustion. She stretched her hand towards the girl in yellow. "Come here, please... I just... I just want to talk to you!" The girl shook her head frantically before vanishing behind a curtain of white winds._

_In frustration, Clementine slammed her fist down into the snow, punching the road beneath. She winced in pain and pulled out her hand. It was raw, and the skin along her knuckles cracked against the cold._

_"CLEMENTINE! CLEMENTINE, PLEASE!"_

It was surprisingly easy for Gabe to slip the flask from her hand. However, when Clementine suddenly jerked in the couch, murmuring softly, he dropped it onto the floor. Guilt immediately panged him right as the metal clanked, and his head swiveled from the flask to Clementine, then back again. She didn't need it. She didn't need it. _Nobody_ needed alcohol, and so didn't Clem. Yes. _Yes._

Gabe swallowed. She... She didn't need it, right? Was that right? Was his father finally wrong and Javier was actually _correct_ for once?

_Clementine grasped the sides of her head tightly as she gasped. "No...no...no, no, no... Not this again. Please, please not this again." The blood-wrenching screams of Jane that shook her to the core were abruptly silenced._

"Hey..." Gabe said softly. "Hey...are you... Are you...okay, Clem?" He raised his hand, letting it hang there for a moment.

Clementine shivered. "Not...not again... No...no..." she breathed quietly, her voice rattling at its base.

"Clem...?" Gabe grew worried. What could he do? His heart pounded behind his ears.

_A shot fired. Clementine stripped her hands from her face. They were blood-red. A mark of a culprit. A murderer. A killer. She was going to hell. "No...no..." She would have if her parents managed to drag her down with them. "No...no...no..._

"K-Kenny... I'm so...sorry," she whispered quietly.

Gabe frowned. "Um...Clem...you're, you're dreaming. You're... You're alright." He swallowed as his voice cracked. Gabe's eyes switched to the other room. He hoped they had noticed by now. That they'd come to his side and fix the mess he made. Gingerly, he touched her shoulder to comfort.

Immediately, eyes of golden whiskey and hellfire snapped open.

He barely had time to react as Clementine pounced, shoving him to the wall. He squeaked. Her iron-clad hand pinned his shoulder down with terrifying ease, ruthless against his momentary struggle; Gabe swallowed, and he stared down the barrel of the pistol. But his eyes flicked to her own. "C-Clem...it's just me... Please...I didn't mean to—"

Oh, what beast lived within them? It had to have been a dragon. And, by God, he woke it from its slumber, didn’t he? A monster? Whatever plagued her.

And yet, her gaze fractured. Clementine’s eyes widened, and she backed away. She collapsed onto the couch, setting the pistol beside her. "God... You can't _do_ that Gabe... You scared the fuck out of me," she said, hoarse.

"I-I know... I'm sorry."

Clementine groped her hip with a frown. "Where's my flask?"

Gabe's eyes widened. "Oh, h-here..." He quickly handed it back to her. "I...um..."

"Thanks," she grumbled.

"Oh...uh...no...no problem." Gabe tried to even his breathing as he stepped back, only to notice Kate, Javier and Eleanor standing in the kitchen. How long were they there for? What did they see?

Javier strode towards them. "What happened?" he whisper-hissed.

"I...um...I— Well...er..."

"It was another dream, Javi, that's all," Clementine murmured.

Javier's expression grew solemn. "Oh, I see." He met Gabe's eyes. "And you...?"

"Um..."

He sighed and shook his head. "I should've known." Gabe felt crestfallen. "You always do learn the hard way, don't you?" Javier asked softly.

"I..." Gabe glanced at Clementine who paid no mind, nursing her flask. The look in her eyes was blank, her thoughts far, far away. "I didn't mean—"

"I know, Gabe. I know. Just...think about what I said, alright?" He watched Clementine for a moment. "And...that wasn't your fault, Gabe. That's just...what happens. It happened to me too before we got to the junk yard. _That_ had nothing to do with you, okay? It's just why—"

"She drinks." Gabe frowned. In a low voice, so that Clementine wouldn't possibly be able to hear, he asked, "Do... Do you know who Kenny is?"

"Don't ask her that, okay?" Javier murmured. "Just promise me that you'll keep an eye on her whenever things get bad, _okay?"_

Gabe nodded. He certainly would. Regardless if Javier killed Conrad, or gamble his life away, or shut away his family, Gabe couldn't fathom anything else. Regardless if David told him not to take his uncle's words as truth, if truth itself had proved Uncle Javi's words, then what choice did he have?

**— — — — — — — —**

They roamed in pairs, Clementine and Javier taking the lead while Gabe and Kate followed. All was quiet underneath the half-moon's light, and Clementine hoped that meant nearly-everybody on shift would be asleep as Ava promised. Behind her, she heard Javier sharply whisper, "Uncle? Do you have the truck in sight?"

She rolled her eyes, glancing over her shoulder. Her small grin was in sharp contrast against Gabe and Kate's befuddled stares. "Uncle...?" Gabe asked slowly. Kate shrugged.

"No, not— Wait, it's there." Right where Ava promised them. Along a chain-linked fence, they looked into the yard. Across them was a metal barn, surely housing the promised truck.

"Alright," Javier whispered, his joking smile wiped away. "Clem, you and I will head inside to get the truck. Gabe and Kate—" he turned to their earnest gazes— "be ready for anything." He pulled open the sliding gate with Clementine armed and ready.

As she took one step through, Gabe scoffed. Both she and Javier turned to him. "Oh I see what's going on," he hissed. "You're punishing me for telling everybody what happened, right? Screw that, _I'm_ going to get the truck, and _you_ stay behind to keep watch."

Javier looked like he was going to wring the boy’s neck. He sighed, however, as he anticipated this; if Gabe was mad, it didn’t matter _why._ "We all have a job to do," Javier said, stern. "This has nothing to do with _shit._ Grow. up. Now is not the time to be thinking about the past, or any petty bullshit."

Gabe frowned, working his jaw for a retort. Clementine inhaled, stepping back through the fence. "Hey, Gabe," she said softly, "I need somebody to watch my back, okay?"

Immediately—to Clementine's relief—he paused, then nodded dutifully. "O-Okay, well _somebody_ has to be look-out."

Clementine pulled a smile over her face, one that didn't reach her eyes. "Thanks." Her smile dropped and eyebrows rose as she saw Kate chuckle from over Gabe's shoulder. "What?" she hissed.

Kate shook her head. "Nothing. Gabe and I will be fine back here."

Clementine nodded, stepping back through the fence. Javier, under his breath, whispered, "Quick thinking."

"It's come in handy before," she replied.

Javier chuckled, following her while Gabe and Kate stepped through, only to remain close to the gate. He looked around, noting how secluded the area was—especially that the fence was the only obvious way out. To his left stood Gabe, who leaned against a brick toolshed. Arms crossed. Eyes narrowed and gaze on Clementine.

There was a heavy sigh. Javier walked to his nephew, who eyed him bitterly the closer Javier was. "What do you want, Javi?"

"Look, Gabe, I understand, okay?" Gabe shook his head with a roll of his eyes. "I know you want to help. I know you want to do the right thing, but there's a lot at stake, and we need everybody to do their part, and do their part _well._ You know? Clem and I can't watch our own backs while trying to pull a damn truck out."

"I— Yeah, I get it," Gabe spat, "but _that's_ the problem. She— She's _my_ age, and you don't treat her like a kid! But you do with me!"

Javier closed his eyes, and he slowly inhaled. "Gabriel." His voice shook through his effort to control it. "What did I tell you not _two_ fucking hours ago?! She. Is not. A kid. I told you. She grew up too fast, okay? Clementine had the luxury of being a teenager stolen from her. She can't just fuck up and it be okay—"

"What, so now I'm a fuck-up?!"

" _No,_ that is not what I said."

"I-I— I don't care what you say! I get that she's not like me, but _you're_ the one that killed him! You're the one who threw his life away, and— I can't tell if what you say is good enough after that!"

Javier grabbed the air in front of him tightly. He swore this _kid_ was like a pendulum. "Good enough? _Good enough?!_ Have you not learned a single damn thing I've taught you?" He planted his hand against his chest. "Gabe, you sacrifice for family—that's what my mama and papi told all of us! And now, it's real. You have to _sacrifice_ for your family! He had you, and I was scared. Don't you remember that?! He had you at gunpoint, and I didn't want you to die!"

Gabe swallowed, and his eyes stung. "W-Well, well _you—_ You— What makes you think Clementine knows that more than I do?"

Javier deflated, his strength and anger seeping out of him. "Because, buddy," he said weakly, "she knows what it's like. She knows what it means to kill for survival." Gabe's face softened, his eyes drifting towards Clementine. "She drinks..." He watched her lean against a wall tiredly, eyes sunk to the ground as she ignored the walkers clawing the blocked paths. "And drinks..." She reached for the flask, and brought it to her lips; from there, Gabe could barely see the numbing pain as the alcohol slipped its way down her throat. "To forget that. Do you understand now?"

His nod was soft. Dismal. Gabe's gaze wandered to Javier with a solemn curiosity. "Kenny...?"

"Do not ask her that."

Javier stood up, eyes to Clementine as she stashed her drink, wiping her mouth. The words from the past couple of days haunted him. _"'For all we know, you talk to her, and she might not be completely sober.' ... 'There's something in her eyes I don't like... Some say she killed Eli in cold blood. Did she?'"_

Though, the ghost of his own were far, far more devastating: _"’You're not drinking to kill yourself, are you? You're drinking to forget how to live...’"_

And then he froze. It wasn’t a lie, but Javier felt his words weren’t the truth either. The dead doctor spoke again, just as drawled and exhausted as before: _“‘All I wanted…was to die. But…he—_ He _got me to care about people. About myself…this damn place. I could be a doctor again… Same as you with that boy, am I right?’”_

Javier tore himself away from Gabe, who remained just as mute. As he searched the area—along the sides where muertos were blocked—, he couldn’t shake the words that unnerved him so: _“‘I don’t care about that right now.’”_

That wasn’t a no. And Javier? He didn’t know if it was a yes or not—and that frightened him. His unsettled nerves crawled up his back; maybe Gabe had a point. Not that he _understood_ Clementine like Javier did, but rather his nephew caught something his uncle didn’t. Something that Javier didn’t want to believe.

_“‘Right… Right. And…with him gone, there’s nothing. For you, the boy…’”_

All of the construction vehicles in the lot were too slow. Too small. Nothing that Javier wanted. And while, for a moment, that was all he could think, Javier’s thoughts drove him back to Clementine.

He noted Clementine's focus on the semi-closed garage. At her side, he asked, "How are you holding up?"

"Like shit." With a twisted smirk, Clementine looked up at Javier. "Nothing new." Javier chuckled lightly, though they subsided within a short few seconds. Clementine caught on. “What?”

Javier shook his head. “It’s…well, uh…” It wasn’t _nothing._ He would’ve kicked himself for even thinking it. Javier breathed deeply, and he watched Clementine. “I just,” he whispered quietly, “Gabe’s been…acting up, I guess? Like any teenager does.”

“Uh huh…?” Her tone was dry, though Javier picked up her concern.

“He’s fine,” he assured, “but…he did raise a good point. Well, indirectly. He’s, uh…”

“Javi, spit it out.”

Javier froze, and he felt some of the color in his face drain. He scratched the back of his neck. “It’s just, Clementine… Are you…?” Her brow arched, and he stared into those eyes of hellfire for a long moment, trying to work out the question. Javier swallowed; he saw that the hazel in them had shifted during their time together, from the inferno at gunpoint to the quiet, crackling fire at the foot of the garage.

“Are you…suicidal?” he asked quietly.

Clementine was startled. And yet, her answer was slow to come. She frowned, and her face hardened—not out of malice or anger, like Javier half-expected, but instead of confusion and unease. “I…” she breathed. “I don’t know.”

“Clem—”

She turned away from him and held her arms. “I already told you,” she growled, “I can’t.”

“That’s not the same thing.”

“I know it _isn’t,”_ Clementine snapped, striking the same bout of tremors in Javier’s chest as she’d done the first time they met. The inferno in her eyes had crawled back to consciousness. “But I’m still alive.” She blinked, and when Clementine saw Javier’s concern, she breathed and murmured, “I just don’t either way, okay? I don’t. I just need A.J back.”

Javier nodded. “And you’ll get him back. I believe in you.”

“Right.” Javier almost reached for a hug, but she was still guarded. Her eyes flicked back to the garage. With a cleared throat, and her voice somewhat lighter, Clementine said, “And, uh, there’s some wheels under that.”

Javier strolled to the garage door, numb, and crouched to look below. "There it is," he breathed with a small grin. Of course. An armory-truck. Safely tucked away from the open. "Come on," he whisper-hissed. Together, they pushed the garage door open. Clementine and Javier then slinked beside the truck, away from the view of the small office in the corner. With his hand on the door handle, Javier grew nervous. "What are the chances?"

Clementine worked her jaw in thought. To lighten the mood, if anything, she murmured, "I'd say, fifty-fifty."

A deep, anxious breath, and the company of Kate and Gabe to boot, Javier pulled it open. He released his shaken breath with, "Smart-ass." As he began to clamber over the seats, searching for the keys to the ignition, the lights went on in the office, blanketing the side of the truck in rows of light. "Shit!" Javier ducked down, resting against the tire. "How are they up _now?!"_

Clementine groaned, muttering, "Early bird catches the worm, I guess."

"Yeah, right." Javier grumbled a few rude vowels as Gabe and Kate joined them on their knees. "And what's in that?” He directed his chin to her hip, eager to stomp out his sudden rush of nerves. “Turning you into a funny guy, all of a sudden?"

Her short answer was almost gleeful: "Apple." So apple was the recipe for a smart-ass—go figure.

Javier rolled his eyes. With a plan in mind, he said, "Okay. We're not going to be able to start the engine without attracting a lot of attention. Kate, you steer while the rest of us push from behind. We can get distance before heading off."

Kate nodded. "Right. How far do you think?"

"Far enough that we're driving, and they're running." Kate slowly opened the door a fraction more and slipped inside.

Gabe followed Javier and Clementine towards the back. "I'm ready," he said. Javier nodded appreciatively, leaning against it. Gabe locked eyes with Clementine for the briefest of moments. While she watched Javier, Gabe rested his gaze on her hands. The hands that took lives. The hands that killed.

_Kenny's killer._

Only...he couldn't think of Clementine as a _killer_. That... That couldn't've been true. Yet, deep down, he knew it was.

Javier murmured, ordering them to push. With his lead, they did so, gradually rolling the armored truck out of the garage.

In the center of the open space, Gabe remained quiet as Javier and Kate murmured to one another. "I couldn't find the ignition key. You're going to have to hotwire it."

Gabe glanced at Clementine, who appeared to be analyzing the car. She grumbled at the news, muttering, "Can't ever catch a fucking break."

Curiously, to numb his frantic thoughts, Gabe asked, "What do you mean?"

"I need a car," Clementine said, and then added somewhat guilty, "and your uncle and I have that deal."

"Oh. Right."

Javier—having gone and found the needed tools in a nearby box—got to work as Kate circled the truck, watching the men in the office through the garage. Clementine pulled out her knife, eyes out on the walkers that reached through the boarded walls. Light exploded from the truck, and not a minute later, so did several walkers through a wall.

"Javi..." she hissed, snaking around the side. "Javi! Hurry up!"

"I know, I just— Fuck. There!" The engine roared, raising the groans of the walkers around. He raised his voice for Kate: "Let's go, now!" All four immediately hurled themselves for the truck as men and walkers alike charged after them, from the sides and garage respectively. Javier didn't hesitate. They charged out of the area, all grinning victoriously to themselves as the men were left swarmed by the undead.

**— — — — — — — —**

Only one streetlamp flickered as the truck rolled to a stop on the quiet street. In the horizon, the morning colors started to seep into the sky, overtaking the vibrant purples and blues. Javier put parked alongside the curb with a sigh. "We can stop here. We're a few blocks away, and we'll be safe."

Beside him, Kate said, "And while we wait, we'll watch the sun come up."

"We have something better to do," Gabe said, pulling out a deck of cards. "I'm gonna teach _you_ how to play Euchre."

Clementine arched a brow as she sipped on her flask. She eyed him and leaned against the back-bench opposite of Gabe. Swallowing, she asked, "Uh...what? Is that a real thing?"

"Sure it is!" Gabe said, handing her a hand of cards. "Come on, I'll show you. So..."

Kate chuckled from the front seat, eyes back in front. "Oh, it's nice having two kids in the backseat again. Takes you back, doesn't it? Just you and me, Gabe and...Mari."

Javier nodded, his smile a gentle one. "Yeah, oh yeah. Those were good times. Out on the road, going wherever... It's, it's hard to think about now, but..."

"I know," Kate whispered. "It... It is."

"Why the fuck does this game have to be so convoluted?!"

At Clementine's competitive frustration, Gabe laughed. "I gotcha!"

"No, that— That's not even a good rule!"

"Still gotcha..."

Warmly, Kate said, "Guess he's stopped playing it cool with her."

To say Javier was confused was a bit of an understatement. "Hmm?"

"Uh, in case you haven't noticed, Gabe's got a little crush on Clementine," she whispered cheekily. Javier's eyes widened, and he looked into the back; he caught Gabe's glance (and grin) directed right to Clementine as she glared at her cards. "He like-likes her, you get it?"

Javier chuckled and turned his attention back to Kate. "Well, can't say I'm _that_ surprised. Must be nice seeing a girl his age," he said quietly. "But..."

"But?"

He glanced at Gabe once more in pity. "I have a feeling Clem's a little heartbreaker, and I'd hate for that to happen."

Kate nodded. "Yeah. I know, it's just nice that Gabe's a bit more cheerful, right?" She thought for a moment. "Did she tell you...?"

"What?"

She shrugged. "Oh, during our talk, she asked some things. About...girls." Javier snorted. "What's so funny?"

Javier shook his head. "No, it's just..." He leaned in, with a flat hand shielding his mouth from the back. "You didn't hear this from me, but she has a little thing for Eleanor."

"Oh?"

Javier giggled quietly, and added, "Especially..." He pointed at Kate's breasts.

Alongside him, Kate was in a fit of chuckles—all of which only grew once Gabe asked, "What about Eleanor?"

Javier turned around with a wide, boyish grin. Gabe was oblivious, and he patiently watched his uncle for an answer. Clementine, however, was a stark red in the cheeks, eyes sharp. "Oh, it's nothing Gabe. Just go back to your game." Gabe nodded suspiciously, though his eagerness to spend his time with the girl his age overruled his list of questions. Clementine focused her eyes on the cards, mirroring Gabe, aside from her hand in the air, finger out. It only added to Javier's chortles.

"Even then, I think it's good for him. To feel something so natural?" Kate continued, giggles subsided (her damn side was still sore). "You rarely get that now, you know? And now, for a few minutes, they can just _be_ and not worry about that."

"Stop cheating!"

"I don't know the fucking rules!"

"But I just told you them!"

"I don't care! I'm going to win!"

Javier grinned. "I wonder how they'd be if everything stayed normal. You know?"

"Yeah...yeah..." She shook her head. "It's not fair. I know we tried our best to let them be kids, raise them right, but...the shit they see. I can't even... Mariana. I couldn't save her from that. She didn't deserve it. Neither of them did."

"You did what you could," Javier said. "It's not your fault, trust me. They still experienced growing up, you know? At least that's something they both have that Clementine..."

Kate pursed her lips, nodding. "She could teach Gabe a thing or two, couldn't she?"

"She could teach all of us a thing or two."

"You two really are two peas in a pod, aren't you?"

Javier floundered over his words. "Well, I mean, we got to know each other well in the past few days. It's... Yeah, I guess." He listened to the card game in the back for a few moments, then watched Kate. Her eyes were to her lap, focused. She was debating something, Javier knew. "Kate, what is it?"

"Before... Before whatever happens when that sun comes up, I... I have to ask you. ...this thing between us? It's confusing and, and we've had moments but, I just want, I-I want to give it a chance. We might not get another, and...and I just... Maybe, maybe I should have stayed quiet. I—"

He answered his thumping, joyful heart. It was abrupt. He felt like she’d slapped him (so delightfully) in the face. But, well: "Let's go for it," Javier said, eager. "We got to try, right?"

Kate nearly jumped in her seat. "Oh my god, really?" As words rushed out of her mouth, Javier leaned in, and pecked her lips. And once he pulled away, he smiled. Javier caught Clementine's blank stare, her flask at her lips. He blushed in turn, only able to meekly shrug as she rolled her eyes and took her sip; as she put away her flask though, Clementine’s small grin was supportive.

"Uh...right, here," Gabe mumbled, ignoring whatever happened in the front (he didn't want to know; well, he _knew,_ but… Stupid adults).

Javier turned back to Kate and paused. He noted her slight frown, which was enough to cover her smile and kind eyes. "We're... We're going to have to tell David, no? I didn't want to before because, you know, we didn't...but it's right. He has to know, even if we were pulling apart."

"Yeah," Javier whispered. Fuck. David. He scratched the back of his neck. "I... Yeah. We can do it. We have to." They sat, finally acknowledging the barrier that had separated them; they danced around it, they avoided it, but now, knowing the barrier will have his heart shattered, they knew they had to brave it.

In the back, Clementine thought as she stared at the cards in her hands. _"It's not an easy thing to teach because most adults don't know what they're doing." Yeah...no shit._

Ava's voice erupted from the walkie-talkie in the cup-holder. _"It's an execution out here. Joan's planning to kill David in front of the whole crowd!"_ Clementine felt her gut itch. She strode over, mindful of the low ceiling. _"Don't bring the truck over here, they'll kill him right away! Just get into the squa—"_

The itch grew to a punch. Clementine looked at Javier, worried. "I don't trust this, Javi," she said. "Something's not right."

"Shit, I know. We got to get over there, now!"

Kate nodded in a rush. "I'll watch over the truck and pull in once you're ready. Go!"

Clementine, Gabe and Javier jumped off, immediately set to a dash once their feet touched the ground. Clementine's eyes wandered in between the alleyways. The crowd took up all of the city's square. She swallowed. Clementine made sure her hand was ready for her pistol.

Her gut never told a lie. There was foul play afoot, which followed Clementine like the plague.

**— — — — — — — —**

All it took was one gunshot.

One gunshot, and Joan's fallen body.

Clementine ducked into the subway entrance. Everywhere, dirt rose and stung her eyes. Everywhere, people crumpled to the ground. Everywhere, bullets rained. She added to the hail of gunfire, managing two or three casualties before Javier swooped in beside her. "You were negotiating! Why the hell would you shoot her?!" she snapped between each bullet.

"Don't tell me you wouldn't've!" Javier barked back, firing a few rounds into another man.

Clementine scowled. "You and I both know I'm not exactly a saint— _Fuck!"_ As tear gas was hurled over the short wall of cover they had, Javier's walkie-talkie buzzed. He answered Kate, hacking on his own coughs, and they both rushed out from the subway entrance. Clementine couldn’t hear the conversation through the insistent ring in her ears. She only caught the last of it:

"No, no! Kate!" Javier growled to himself.

Clementine felt the moment freeze as she watched the armored truck barrel down the street. Within the sun's early morning glow and haze of dust was pure chaos. People stumbled. People lost balance. People perished.

She ran. She remained steady. She killed.

It was only until Javier shoved her out of the way of the truck did she finally plummet to the road.

**— — — — — — — —**

The screams outside were distant through the single door, which had been hastily barricaded. In the stairwell, they were bathed in red light, hiding the blood that stained their clothes. Blood of _innocence._

"This should be good. Nobody's getting through that anytime soon." Javier set his hands on his hips as the group eyed the door blocked by an array of furniture. Walkers scratched from the other side though it didn't budge.

David turned to Gabe. "You put up a good fight out there," he said, undoubtedly surprised.

Clementine could almost feel Gabe's equal shock from beside her. "Hey...Dad." He grinned softly. "I'm glad you made it out."

Kate—whose eyes were kept to the door—remained unconvinced of their security. "Joan's probably looking for us," she murmured, incredibly worried. A pang shot through Clementine’s gut—the same one she felt rip through her once Javier forced the bullet into Joan’s temple.

"No," Gabe said, eyes narrowed and grin snatched away. He pointed to his uncle's chest. "Javi shot her!"

"What?!" Kate looked at Javier for confirmation, her worry completely replaced by bewilderment. Javier backed away from her out of his unsure guilt, hands raised.

But before Javier could give any confirmation, David gave it to her: "Good riddance," he growled.

Gabe ignored him. "I heard you two, you were negotiating! You didn't have to kill her!"

"She was lying, Gabe!" Javier said, arms raised higher. "I couldn't trust a word from that woman! I didn't believe she was going to hold up her end of the deal, and David would be dead!"

"So why didn't anybody shoot us?! We were outnumbered, and they only shot after—"

"Javi's right," David argued, stepping forward. "Joan had to go. I would have done it too."

"That's because you don't mind killing people, do you?" Gabe snapped. He balled a fist as he added, "I'm tired of being told people have to die!"

"Gabe," Javier said, "that's not fair. You know—"

Gabriel scowled, shook his head and walked towards the other side of the stairwell, behind both his father and uncle. "Hey! You _do_ not walk away from me!" David snapped. "When someone speaks to you, you stand up and answer them!"

Javier put out his arm between them. "Hold on, David. Gabe's not a little kid anymore—"

"So you're saying you allowed him to do this?!"

"No. He _does_ need to answer," Javier said, glancing behind him, "but you can't just blow up either."

"I-I'm just!" David sighed and stepped forward. "I'm trying to protect you, Gabe. I lost you once...and I won't let it happen again. Okay?"

As Gabe digested his father's words, Javier said, "Just be glad we made it out alive."

"Right." The silence was swallowed by the dead outside, who’d found a new victim to claim. Clementine held herself, feeling _very_ out of place in the family’s dispute. She kept her eyes down, which had the bill of her cap shadow her face, and her fingers drummed her bicep. Maybe she could take a sip from her fla—

"We need to check the other entrances. Make sure they're secured." She blinked and jerked her attention to David, whose gruff words were quiet. He walked to the stairs leading to the basement, then turned around. "Do you want to help, Gabe?" His sone didn't speak, far too stunned to do anything. "Gabriel?!"

Javier, gently, said, "You can go help him."

"Alright..."

Clementine, with her eyes steady on David, frowned. "I'll go help too." David turned towards her with a hint of gratitude. Once she narrowed her glare, however, he swallowed his appreciation.

He walked down the stairs, Clementine and Gabe behind him. They removed themselves from the cracked sunlight—split through the few windows—and into the dismal bank of shadows. There weren’t many lights the further they went, which surprised her; she knew that basements of huge buildings like this usually had a plethora of them. Though, she caught how many of the bulbs were fractured and wondered if something happened. Probably. It was usually the case, anyway. Clementine could only imagine what happened the weeks of the Outbreak.

She tightened her jaw as Gabe lagged behind, leaving David by her side. It took a few moments of anticipation before David began to speak in low mutters: "How'd Lingard die, Clementine? You were there, weren't you?"

"He felt nothing. It was from some drug he had in a syringe. He asked me to," Clementine answered. “Javier only stabbed him so he didn’t turn.” David nodded, and she felt an air of impression around him. They walked onwards, down the halls. With each door they passed, they found that the majority had been blocked from years ago—stacked with heavy furniture, dust and the occasional mold. "I know where A.J is," she murmured.

"And you're actually going after him?"

Clementine sneered. "Of course I am. He's all I have left."

At another door, Gabe took the initiative and started to drag furniture to close it off. David stepped forward to help along with Clementine, but he shook his head. "I got it, _okay?"_ Gabe mumbled.

David frowned, though left it be. There were other matters. "He's safe, okay? There's no need to 'rescue' him, Clementine."

"That isn't going to stop me. I was there when he was born. I was the only one who took care of him. I watched his first steps! I fed him!" Clementine glared at David. "And you took that away, but now I'm getting him back once all this hell is gone."

Gabe walked past them, ignoring David and side-stepping around Clementine. "And...I get that." The calm in David’s voice caught her off-guard. "I do. We're more alike than you think."

"Are we now?"

David's gaze slid to her, and he nodded. "You'd be one of the best soldiers there was. You thrive in this world, don't you?"

Clementine clenched her jaw. "You don't know shit about what I do in this world. I survive, like everyone else."

"Alone. Not even an adult." David chuckled. "Tell me, what was one of the first things you did when this war started?"

"Hid in my treehouse." Once it popped out of her mouth, Clementine internally cursed.

"Pretty smart for somebody that age," he said. "And I'm assuming you weren't a drunk—"

"Do _not_ call me that."

David ignored her. "Well, even with that drink, you’ve been a little terror around here for the runners, haven’t you? You do know that the one girl’s nose is never going to be straight again, right? It’s still broken. Her _jaw_ is still fractured. She can’t eat like she used to, you know.” Clementine remained silent, almost an apology. David hummed with a firm brow. “Let me guess, you didn't take anything for granted, did you? All this time? Right from the start? You understood what this meant. You never underestimated anything." He kept his gaze forward, sure that Gabe was listening by his slowed pace. He continued anyhow: "And all the other kids around you couldn't cope, did they? Oblivious to every sign, or crumpled under the pressure. Got bit. Panicked. You never did that, did you? You always knew how live when needed, and how to kill when needed."

"I get it!” she snarled. Clementine _knew_ that Gabe was listening by the way he had almost tripped over himself at David’s last few words. But Clementine continued, and hissed, “I wasn't fucking like all the others! That doesn't mean I'm like _you."_

"And yet..." he lowered his voice to a soft hiss, "you took my extra flask." Her fist tightened. She ignored Gabe who finally wrenched his eyes over his shoulders.

David ignored him too, and instead watched her, pitifully. "I don't belong in cities, or a home, or any other civilian community. I belong out on the field. But I am still human, like you." They pressed forward, turning the last corner. "I have the same dreams as you. I sometimes see things that aren't there. The people I've killed haunt me."

Clementine’s halt was abrupt. Her eyes stung, and her teeth were bared. He stopped and put his hand on her shoulder. "You are a soldier, Clem. You belong in this world, whether you like it or not. It is second nature. You are like me, and I know you hate it. You want to be like my brother, don't you?"

"Who I want to be is dead. That's. It."

"I know. I see it in your eyes." Clementine stared at him, blind to Gabe, who was pale, as he watched their conversation. "I see all of them in your eyes... Men. Women. …children. Friends and family. Absolute strangers.” Clementine backed away, the color draining from her face. “I see them all…” he whispered. She stared into his eyes. They looked so _tired_ all of a sudden. He shared her exhaustion of the world. Of life.

David asked one final thing before leaving her for his son:

"Do you see mine?"

**— — — — — — — —**

Back at the room, David opened the door, and Clementine found a man lying on the couch, a woman beside him, Javier, Kate and— She narrowed her eyes. Eleanor. There was no giddy irk anymore, only seething anger. She _knew_ that Eleanor was scheming. She had a chance to stop her. Shoot her between her eyes. Anything. Anything instead of sleeping on the couch.

The room, though, had a strange tension. It was eerily calm aside from the worried whispers by the couch, like a terrible storm had just passed. Clementine kept her livid surge to herself. Reason bled into her thoughts. Eleanor was a nurse and, she regretted to admit, the only one for miles at that.

"Fern and Rufus..." David whispered. Clementine slipped her gaze back to the couch. "What's wrong with them?"

Eleanor, throat cleared, said, "Bitten. He's slipping in and out of delirium."

"Ida," Rufus croaked. "We have to find our daughta... We..."

"Oh my god," Javier breathed, just within earshot of Clementine, "that's the man I let go." Clementine watched Rufus closely. The semi. Her tree. Clementine swallowed. Javier bound by his wrists. And then, her shotgun. The chocolate he would’ve given to Maria—

"Let's give them a minute, so—"

Fern, holding an _axe,_ cut across Eleanor. "Y'all get over here! You gotta... You gotta cut his arm off!" Everybody stared for a moment. The woman was spastic, trembling out of raw desperation. It was a wonder how she could hold the axe, even with her sturdy arms and strong hands.

Eleanor shook her head. "We can't. I'm sorry, he's too far along."

"Bullshit! It's only been a few hours!" Fern snapped. She pounded her chest with the flat edge of the tool. "I've seen it work before!"

"Do you want his last moments alive more painful than they need to be?"

"I just want to try," Fern said weakly, with cracks in her tone. "I can't _lose_ everyone. Please!" Javier shifted, and Clementine felt her gut twist. Fern had noticed as well. His pity, and his heroic nature. "Please, I'm begging you. _Please."_

"I... I-I can try," he mumbled hoarsely. Javier took the axe with a slight tremble and strode to the couch. David met him, pulled out Rufus' arm onto the pushed coffee table, all while ignoring Eleanor's pleas.

"I'm telling you, this isn't—!"

Javier winced, though he aimed nonetheless.

Clementine didn't expect the arm to be sliced off in one swing. She grimaced immediately once the room was refueled by a cataclysm of emotion. Rufus howled in pain, and blood poured unceasingly out of his arm. Clementine's eyes darted for anything—a rope, tape, string—as Javier and David backed away, startled out of their minds. However, Rufus' cries were extinguished within a moment. And it left the room to dip in a long, still silence.

"Rufus?" Fern shook his shoulder. Her quaking tremors of desperation distorted into those of fear. "Rufus?!"

"I..." Javier stuttered. "I didn't... Fern, I—"

Fern cried into her husband's shoulder as Eleanor, mindful to speak as gently as she could, growled, "I told you it wasn't going to work! And the blood-loss didn't help either!"

"I just—"

A pistol aimed for his head, and it promptly raised his arms.

"YOU! THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT! I'VE LOST EVERYTHING!" Fern exploded, burying her request in the back of her mind. All at once, her tremors had subsided to be replaced by a sudden, blinded anger.

"I tried! I didn't mean anything to happen!"

"THE WALL! THE HERD!" Fern continued. "EVERYTHING!"

"I—"

Kate stepped in between them, the first thing she managed to do within the minutes Clementine was there. "No! Fern... It was my fault!" she pleaded, pausing the widow's hysteria. "I-I'm responsible for the wall! It was me…! Forgive me, please! I want to make everything right!"

Fern's arm remained in the air. She trembled, tears streaming when—

Clementine gasped at once when David strode forward, snatched the woman’s wrist to punch her elbow inwards. Fern shrieked, crumpling to the ground as David continued to the couch. With her gun in his hands, he fired at Rufus, silencing the man mid-groan.

"DAVID!" Kate bellowed.

"Dad, what are you doing?!"

Amongst the angry yells, Clementine could only manage a "What...the fuck...?!" She exhaled sharply and snapped, "David?!"

David stood in the middle of his mess, watching his family (and Clementine, and Eleanor) in surprise. The amount of confusion that reeked off of him was baffling to all those in the room—aside from Clementine, who felt a pained twist of familiarity. She wanted to vomit just to avoid the thought.

With the grace she never could grasp, Javier said with his mellow sympathy, "You didn't need to break her arm! _That_ was too far, David!"

"Okay...” David blinked, still absolutely puzzled. “Don't thank me."

Fern moaned in horror, and shuffled backwards along the couch’s side. David's handgun aimed for her head as she nudged the pistol beside her. "No!" Gabe yelped, lunging for his father.

No hesitation. David swung at Gabe, sending him to the floor without looking.

At the sound of Gabe's grunt, David jerked and blitzed around. "Gabe! I'm sorry, you know I didn't mean to—!"

"You were going to kill her!" Gabe coughed.

"She was going for her gun!"

"She's scared, Dad! No she wasn't! Look at her!" David did. All he found was Fern curled against the coffee table, her dead husband lying on the couch. Feet away from the pistol. Weeping. "What the hell, Dad?! She can't even stand up!"

"He—" Javier got to his knees beside his nephew. "He was just doing what he thought was right, even if it was overboard."

David growled to himself. "I didn't mean to do that, I'm sorry! You know I am!" Everybody backed away from him. He frowned. "Why are you all looking at me like that?"

"Just, they're scared, David," Javier said, hands still raised.

"Of _what?!_ I'm protecting them!" he snapped, and he forced his handgun to the floor with each point.

"Then why are you waving a gun at us?!" Kate asked.

Clementine watched David as he looked at the weapon, and then slowly slid it into his holster. "So...I'm all alone," he whispered softly, defeated.

 _"We're more alike than you think..."_ She glowered, and Clementine raised her head. David gazed at the line of people facing him. Alienating him. His eyes briefly rested on her. _"I see them in your eyes... Do you see mine?"_

Of course she did. It was one of the first things she knew about him. And she hated it. She hated it more than she hated recognizing Eleanor’s beauty.

"Fine then," he grumbled, and she saw the people inside them—clearer. Men. Women. Friends and family. Absolute strangers… But no children. Something fidgeted deep in Clementine’s chest. Was she worse…? Was she truly the monster?

She frowned. If she didn’t have her own Gabe or Javier, would she have killed Fern? And the truth she didn’t want to realize? Clementine didn’t know.

David’s muttering snapped her eyes back to him. He strode forward, towards the door. "You people are on your own." The door slammed behind him.

"Such an asshole," Gabe whispered in excruciating disappointment.

Javier and Kate stepped to the door. As Gabe went to Clementine's side, she heard Kate murmur, "I've seen that look in his eyes before. You should go talk to him."

"I will."

Once Javier closed the door behind him, Kate focused her gaze out of the window. Clementine listened to the screams and mangled groans in the distance, and the whimpers from Fern at the couch. "We should sweep the perimeter to see if we can find people," Kate murmured quietly.

Clementine, in the same manner, replied, "Okay. I’ll…do that.” Together, with Gabe following her, the three walked down the hall, careful to avoid the despaired people along the sides. At each window, they looked on, only to find chaos. The closest people to the doors were long since dead, and the gunshots that fired were too far away.

Kate didn't care, however. She frantically searched for a person in need every chance she got. Gabe fired at a few walkers from dozens of windows, only for the innocent on the road to be overtaken anyway.

Clementine swallowed after several long grueling minutes of this; she felt her heartbeat pulse in her palm against her pistol's handle. They had almost completely circled the building when cracks of gunfire—from _outside_ —rang in her ears.

The three all froze and looked at one another. "There's somebody here!" They threw their heads towards the closest window, and Clementine gasped.

"Fuck! It's Ava!"

Her heart pounded. In the back of her mind, Clementine came to a conclusion that was quick to overtake her: she needed Ava. And...Ava needed her. Right then and there.

She charged towards the stairwell, shoving the door open. "Stay up here and cover her! I'll get her in!" she barked. Kate and Gabe nodded and smashed a window open. The cracks of their bullets echoed down the steps that Clementine flew down. At the foot of the stairway, there was a door. "God _damn_ it!" she hissed.

The door was blocked by a hefty bookshelf, stocked full of odd items. Hurriedly, she scooped the items on one shelf and hurled them to the floor in a single motion. Then the next shelf, and the next. Once all the shelves were clear, she heard Kate call out to Ava: "STAY BY THE DOOR! CLEMENTINE'S DOWN THERE!"

Clementine didn't pause when she heard Ava's near-strangled warnings of a few walkers by the doorway. She rammed herself into the bookshelf. It screamed against the floor as she pushed it backwards.

The door was wrenched open, and there she found two furious walkers in her way. With a growl, she closed the door on one of their heads, promptly bashing it, then booted the other to the street. She shot it in between its eyes without thought. All of her attention was instead swiveled towards Ava's guttural snarl. In the road, the woman bashed a walker with the butt of her gun, unbeknownst of the threat over her shoulder.

 _Oh my god._

Clementine aimed and fired, her bullet cracking through the walker's skull. "AVA!" Clementine shouted. Ava's stunned gaze whipped around. Clementine waved her over from the door. "COME ON! IN HERE!" As Ava bolted towards the door, more walkers were sent to the ground. Once through, Clementine slammed the entryway closed. "The shelf, we have to get it back over here!"

Ava nodded, and she shoved her weight into it as Clementine pushed from the side. Their breaths were heaved, though the bookcase was easier to move now. The air was sharp and heavy all the way down her throat and into her lungs, but when Clementine lifted her head, she was glad. Ava didn’t look bitten; at least, she didn’t wear the look of someone who was bitten.

Clementine's hands balled before she jumped into Ava for a crushing embrace. And for a moment, she felt Ava’s uncertainty. Within a few moments, as expected, she felt Ava's rattling heartbeats as the woman responded in kind. After a few moments, they jumped away, eyes avoidant.

Ava, with a tired sigh, watched Clementine. "How'd you find me?" she asked through a cough.

Clementine jerked her chin towards the gunfire up the stairs. "We got in here about an hour ago. Gabe, Kate and I've been checking the perimeter when I saw you from upstairs."

"Well...thanks...Clementine," Ava said, panting. "God, it's hell out there." She folded her hands over her eyes, her handgun still in her right palm. "Fuck... Joan's dead. Why... Why the hell did you let him shoot her?!"

"I didn't think he was going to!" Clementine snapped back. "But it's done, there's nothing to fix it! She's nothing but walker food now!" Ava inhaled a hiss, her hand over her opposite forearm; a thick, angry line was still visible. Clementine winced. The frayed rope that held her hostage beside Tripp…who was also…gone.

"I... I'm sorry, Ava."

Ava swallowed, her eyes hard on the girl. They softened, however, knowing Clementine's noble gaze all too well—rare as it was. "I know. But what makes you think _he_ isn't? He sent me to die!"

"Go and ask him that, okay?! Javi's a good person."

"And you trust him?"

"With my life." Ava remained silent. “Ava, it was a hard choice either way. Joan was willing to kill her own people, and someone who was an ally to her.” Her nod was slow, though Ava was still bitter. Clementine scratched her neck. As steps echoed down the stairs, their eyes were drawn to Kate and Gabe as they slowed to a cautious halt. "Ava, come on. He's with David."

"And David's okay?" she asked.

Clementine shrugged. "He's not hurt, if that's what you're asking."

"Fine. Where is he?"

Kate stepped in: "We can find him now, if you want. Javi's talking to him." Ava nodded. She followed Clementine up the steps, who in turn followed Kate and Gabe. Clementine, periodically, glanced behind her, and she met Ava's cold eyes. They were only warm for her, and uncertain. But…glad, all the same.

Clementine pursed her lips and continued forward. Her thoughts were a pendulum again, swinging in and out of the hallway she walked. In and out, in and out, she felt her flask call for her. It was that time of the hour, and she took it.

**— — — — — — — —**

Clementine, empty bottle at hand, stumbled through the trees. Her movements were sluggish as she neared the boarded shed in the clearing. Once at the door, the bottle was tossed to the side, smashing into the wall. In her drunken stupor, Clementine barely navigated her steps to the blankets laid on the floor. She tumbled to the ground.

Eagle-spread, she stared at the ceiling, left to relive the night over and over again. A.J, and his cries disappearing behind her. Ava, and her shouts to face the consequences.

David, and his empty promises.

She closed her eyes with her forearm across her face. Clementine groaned, the drink in her body burning. Nothing, however, singed like the tears dripping down her cheeks. She sat up and held her prized possession. "Fuck... God _damn_ it!" In an instant, the flask was hurled across the room. Its corner was dented by the time it toppled to the floor. Clementine stood up and paced. "God damn it. I... David, you fucking bastard. You _fucking_ bastard!" She choked on her angry sobs as she threw the camping bed across the room.

It crashed into the shelves, knocking the majority of its contents off. Books. Cups. Plates. Toys. Glass and china crackled as her boots stormed across the disaster, and she swiped her flask from the floor. The lid was quickly unscrewed, leaving her to drain the rest of it away.

Once she swallowed the last of the whiskey, Clementine slowly staggered to a small wooden chair. She sat down, her face in her hands. Tears bloomed and dropped onto her lap. "A.J... I'm so sorry. I never meant for you to...to..." She sniffed, and she wiped the unceasing tears away.

Bushes rustled outside.

Her heart nearly leapt out of her chest.

Clementine paused, driving her palms into her eyes to dry them. "Shit..." she hissed. Clementine dragged herself to the door. A few strides outside, Clementine glared out into the trees, focused on the batch of pushes to the left. With her jaw locked tight, she whipped out her knife.

The bushes rustled once more, and hastily, a figure stood with their hands up. "Woah there, Clem! It's just me!" Ava stepped out, shrugging a duffle-bag over her shoulder. Clementine slipped the knife away, folded her arms, and then leaned against the doorframe.

"What the hell do you want?" she snarled.

Ava winced. "I'm really glad I found you." She looked around with a small laugh. "You don't break habits, do you?"

"Starting tomorrow, I will."

Ava wasn't surprised, though it didn't lessen the sting. "I... Right. Clementine, I know this is hard. I'm so sorry for what happened with A.J. And I know you're pissed," she said softly, though her words gathered edge: "Spitting in his eyes and breaking his nose _really_ got that message across."

Clementine hissed, "Fuck off…"

"I... Heh, I deserve that. Look, I'm not here to upset you more."

"Too little, too late."

Ava sighed. She was going to be difficult, it seemed. "Right. Uh, look, here..." She threw the duffle-bag to the ground, right at Clementine's feet. "It's not much, but you need food for all of that shit you drank tonight."

Clementine sent a quick glare, slow to get to her knees. She unzipped the bag and found several energy bars, water bottles, jerky, and— Clementine pulled out the sheet of paper. On it was an array of colors all scribbled down as several blobs.

Her tears returned as she fell backwards. Her arms rested on her knees, her spine against the door frame. "David... He wanted you to have that. A.J drew it after you— It calmed him down..." Ava explained. She sunk to her knees.

"Th-This..." Clementine felt her heart's pain stretch down her arm, settling deep around her thumb. "Thank-you."

"You're welcome. Consider it a...peace offering?" Ava swallowed, then scratched her wrist. "Just...we care about you. Even if it feels wrong, and shit gets fucked, people are still trying to do the right thing by you. Remember that?" Clementine didn't answer. "And, look, Clementine, it's dangerous out here, and I know you're hurting. You have to keep your level head, find some protection." She stood up. "Plan for after."

Clementine got to her feet, muttering, "I can make it on my own, just like I always have. I don't need anybody else. And I don't want it."

"And I don't blame you," Ava said quickly. "Just...don't overestimate what you're capable of. For me, and you know this, surviving means finding other people that I trust just as much as they trust me. The New Frontier. Kept me going during my darkest moments..." She paused as Clementine's stare hardened. "And you'll find yours. Trust me. Some one, or some thing. They're out there."

"Not... Not anymore."

Ava's stature softened from dignified to compassionate. "What...do you mean?"

"Why do you think I don't go with groups?" Clementine said with a bite. Then, gently, she added, "They're all dead. I… I told you. All of them. Lee..." She couldn't name anybody else. Not without remembering everything.

"You never mentioned him."

"He took care of me," Clementine murmured, "when everything started... Every time I look at A.J, I hear him in my head, guiding me. Or, he did, at least."

"He's still with you, you know... Here." Ava rested her hand over her chest. "And so's A.J." She added a smile, a soft one, for the chance that Clementine's tough exterior would crack. It didn't. "From the first time we met, right here, surrounded by absolute hell, you and A.J were a light in the darkness, hope for a better world! That's... That's who you are.

"Promise me that you'll never lose that light."

Clementine looked away from Ava's eyes. They always saw through her—reached deeper than any sip from a flask or bottle could. "I... I'll try. I promise, I will."

Ava smiled. "You're a tough kid. Don't change that. Please." Her grin dropped, and she said, "I...have to get back before they notice I'm gone." She stepped closer. "And, Clementine, those good people that are out there? There's...an old airfield, Prescott. Ten or so miles south of here. They'll help you, I'm sure. There's good people there. They'll help you."

She stretched out her hand. "I'll miss having you around, Clem." Clementine hesitated. Though, slowly, she took Ava’s hand and shook. "You'll be okay. I promise."

That wasn't something she could promise, but Clementine relented. "Thanks, Ava," she breathed.

Ava nodded, then stepped away. "Good luck out there, kid. And, well...maybe we'll run into each other at some point."

Clementine didn't say anything, and only watched as the woman walked back through the bushes, into the dark. Her eyes returned to A.J's drawing. They burned as she whispered, "Fuck... A.J. I'm so, so sorry..."

**— — — — — — — —**

_But I'll get you back, I promise._

Clementine knocked a walker off the highway bridge. Every bone in her body ached. Around her, the group dealt with the dead as they passed, bathed in the maroon sky's glow. The sun was beginning to set, and Clementine could only wonder what hell that night would bring.

She moved forward, however, despite everything. With Ava alongside her. They were quiet for a long, long moment—long enough to catch clips of Javier and Gabe's conversation.

"So...what _have_ you been up to?” Ava finally spoke. “Other than robbing people on the streets, starting fights and trying to steal cars."

Clementine chuckled dryly, rolling her eyes. "How'd _you_ know about that?"

Ava replied, "The New Frontier has eyes everywhere. You know _that._ And...you might've scared some people that ran to us."

"Whatever." Clementine thought for a moment. "And you?"

"Not great, if I'm honest."

"Yeah, I figured."

Ava's grin was small. "Always the charmer, aren't you?"

Clementine's cheeks grew red, and she turned away from Ava's soft laugh. Another few walkers dealt with. Another few moments of silence. "Did you know about A.J?"

"I did..." Ava glanced at Clementine before holding her gaze forward. "I did want to go find you, to tell you? But with what Joan did to the New Frontier, it was harder for me to break away. Hell, I only ran a few scouting missions after that. Which…had to deal with some of your…” Ava fell silent again, leaving Clementine to ponder. They both knew exactly the other thought. Or Clementine had a suspicion, at least. She didn’t ask about Janet, though. Ava worked her jaw, then said, “And... Well, we did visit Prescott for supplies too—"

"I know about the supplies."

Ava nodded bitterly. "Joan did always have a way of pulling the wool over our eyes... But, when we were at Prescott, I did try to find you. Catch up or somethin’. But I heard you— That you were the drunk that traded with them."

"Don't call me that," Clementine murmured.

"It's not a lie, though, is it?" Ava pursed her lips, her eyes meeting Clementine's. "You broke our promise. What happened?"

"Robbing people off the streets. Starting fights. Trying to steal cars."

Ava exhaled sadly. "I, I figured that's what happened." They pressed forward, and Clementine saw a dangerously tight path ahead. "And now? Now you know about A.J, that changes things?"

"He's the person out there waiting for me, Ava. _That_ hasn't changed."

"Can you promise me something, then?"

"I can."

"Look, once you find him, just know that...you can trust more people. You can find a home. If not for you, for A.J," Ava said.

Clementine frowned in thought, and slowly nodded. "I-I will. Eventually, if I have to walk across the States, I will."

"Good... Good..." Ava and Clementine shared a glance. "I'm going to talk to David for a moment."

"Alright." As Ava jogged to her comrade's side, Clementine heard Gabe make his way to her. Replacing Ava from the opposite side, Gabe smiled at her awkwardly. "Hi," she said, quiet.

"Hey," he replied. Their pace slowed once Kate, David and Ava halted at a barrier. "What's up with that?"

"People trying to block off the road, I guess... Or an accident," Clementine said.

She heard Javier's voice from behind: "God that looks terrifying... David! Is there a way around that?!" Up ahead were a piled cars across the lanes, some teetering towards the edge—which had been blown apart at some point.

David nodded. "Yeah, but we'd have to go one at a time!" When Clementine, Javier and Gabe caught up, David said, "There's some space around here. I can go first."

"And I'll go second," Gabe announced. David smiled approvingly. He then looked onward to the daunting task at hand; with great care, David slid along the edge, balancing between not touching the closest rickety car and falling over the edge. He made it, safe.

"It's doable," he said, "just be careful with it."

Gabe nodded, and followed suit. The car wiggled, freezing him for a moment. However, Gabe, too, made it. Kate was next, and she swore through every second of it. "Alright..." Clementine mumbled. She padded her away around the first headlight, her back to the drop to the surface streets. Everything trembled more violently the passing seconds. But, like all before her, she made it. Clementine sighed in relief. "Okay. Javi. Ava."

Javier's gulp was noticeable across the obstacle. Ava and Javier spoke to each other, then Javier began to scoot his feet around. The car jerked forward, throwing his balance. "Javi!" Clementine snapped.

Then there was a groan. Both Clementine and Ava saw it first. The latter ducked towards Javier. "Javi! Behind you!" Clementine shouted as David charged towards the car. With Clementine by his side, they both—as a desperate comradery—tried to stabilize the car's writhing as a walker crawled out through the windshield.

Javier's balance was completely thrown, though with Ava's aid, he was shoved towards the rest of the group. However, like polar ends, the walker and Ava collided, unable to be broken apart as she fell screaming.

"AVA!" Clementine and David roared. The rest were frozen in place, throats tight.

From below, both heard the devastating crack of bone.

All was silent aside from David's heavy breaths, Javier's frantic panting, and Clementine's stunned whimpers. "I... David. It— I'm sorry, it happened so fast. I didn't realize that she'd... That she'd fall."

David sucked in his cry and said, "I-I know. I know. She— She did what a brave soldier w-would do.” He paused, wiped his eyes promptly, and exhaled. “She'd kick me if she knew I was crying over her instead of carrying on with the mission." David sniffed. "She... Ava made her honorable sacrifice. And we have to move..."

Clementine couldn't tear her eyes away. A swarm of walkers had piled on top of her body already, far below her. She cried to herself, planted on the ground as David picked himself up, inhaled the last of his tears, and walked painfully away. He would save his tears for later, off the field of battle. Gabe lingered in his spot, and he watched Clementine.

Javier crouched beside her, his hand at her shoulder. "She... She was the only one who understood. She— Ava's the one who branded me so I could feed A.J."

He squeezed her shoulder, then hugged her. "I'm sorry, Clementine. I, I didn't mean for it to happen. I—"

"I know. I know." Clementine stood up, eyes still far below. "I just... I need a few minutes. I'll walk, but I need a few minutes." He nodded. Javier they strode ahead, guiding Gabe with him to allow Clementine the space.

For a long moment, she watched the street below. "I'll keep my promise, Ava," she whispered. "I'll...I'll try to find people. I'll try to find a home." Clementine tore herself away from the edge and moved forward. Her gaze didn't raise, not unless there was a commotion or a growl of a walker. The obstacles to come on the highway pass, she'd take them, without a word.

_I promise, Ava. For A.J, and...for you._

**— — — — — — — —**

Clementine clenched her jaw and breathed deeply, swallowing her fiery drink. When she finally picked up her head, she noticed that everybody had halted. Once again, they’d reached the garage. From the water-tower's catwalk, Clementine saw the construction vehicles with the random car or truck.

Everybody beside her peered down, and their eyes dotted around, counting the walkers below. "Shit," Kate breathed. "They're everywhere. And we need those vehicles."

"I know," Javier muttered. "God, I miss when we were tracking the herd. From a safe distance."

David gave a dry chuckle. "It's not like we can go and ask them to move out of the way."

Beside Clementine, Gabe frowned before a grin spread across his lips. "Why don't we use noise? We could use that generator down there!" he said, pointing across the small field.

"That's a great idea!" David beamed. "Good thinking. When did you get so smart?"

"Should've seen him during these past few years, David," Javier said. "He's good with this stuff, right?"

"Uh... Y-Yeah. Thanks, Javi," Gabe mumbled.

Javier nodded, then pointed out the obvious: "That could work, if we could get to the generator. How the hell could we get past them?"

Finally, Clementine broke her silence and said, somewhat cheekily, "Go down, cut open a walker, rub its guts all over, and you can just walk past them." She felt each and every one of their stares. Her attention spun to the family, who all looked equally disgusted. "What? It works."

"And how do you know that?" Javier asked curiously—scratch that: _hopefully_.

She looked at him. "I've been doing this since the beginning. It works. Just...don't scream, or anything."

"Holy shit," Javier hissed. "Is that why you reek? You've been spreading all of their guts over your pretty little face?"

"Yup." Clementine turned to him, smile wide. "So...Javi? I can count on you to do things for me, right?"

He narrowed his eyes. "...on occasion."

"Can this be one of them?"

"Why? You've done this before, you must be good at it!" Javier pointed down below. "Go on! Put your perfume on, Clem! You're gonna need it for later."

Clementine rolled her eyes. "Whatever.” Her eyes lowered to the walkers. Ava’s screams. They still terrorized her, rabid amongst the white noise. Clementine barely shook her head, throat clogged before she looked back to Javier. “I…” His eyes softened. “Can you do it?"

Javier's sigh was gentle, but elongated in an effort to negotiate the slightest grin out of her. It didn’t tamper with his sincerity, however: "Yeah... Okay, I'll do it." As he climbed down the ladder, all three on the catwalk thanked him in their respective ways: David through a brief grunt, Gabe through a subtle murmur, Kate through generous worry, Clementine through a supportive, quiet grin.

Once he was halfway down, Clementine swallowed before she tried her own attempt in goading a smile from him: "Oh, and when you do it, the walker's smell way worse than you can imagine."

"Was that supposed to be helpful?" She didn’t get a smile, though Javier was certainly, sarcastically, amused.

"Uh... Well, yes, originally, but I didn't want to lie."

Javier waved her away lazily, and he stalked behind a few crates. The catwalk was full of anticipation (and Clementine unscrewing her flask, eager to decimate her grieving to instead dive head-first in the rush of entertainment). He slit a walker's throat, then pulled it behind with him. Clementine grinned behind her flask as he cut the walker open, from jugular to stomach.

She chuckled to herself, slipping the flask back once Javier scrunched his face at the smell wi racking coughs. He glared up the water tower, flipping her off. She waved back.

Kate leaned closer to Clementine and asked, "Are you...enjoying yourself?"

Clementine shrugged. "It's not like there's T.V anymore."

“Oh my god…”

However, once Javier had rubbed the rotting innards all over him, Clementine braced herself. Her show was done, and her anxiety spiked with Javier’s. He walked carefully forward, and he _growled_ at the nearest walkers. While his teeth baring and low grumbles were comical, Clementine couldn't help but watch with a nervous sweat, her hand folded over her pistol. "Come on, Javi... You're so close..."

A minute of mockery passed. The generator bellowed to life. The four on the catwalk silently cheered as they snaked their way down the ladder, relieved. Javier waited by the wide, metal door.

Clementine grinned as the party took cover in the garage. "Good going, and you smell like shit," she said, patting his shoulder.

And before Javier could thank her, David muttered, "Barely."

Javier rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Well I _did_ turn it on…” He waved the air, sighing. "Look, we need to seal the breach. There's going to be something here. All we have to do is get the right vehicle," Javier said.

Kate, who eyed a bulldozer with a large buskin, agreed and pointed: "That could work."

David, on the other hand, kept his eyes on a blue, heavy-duty truck, with light beams along the roof, uncracked windows, and strong tires. Javier shook his head. "Uh, that's not going to do the job, man—"

"Yes. It is." David turned around.

"What do you doing?"

"The right thing." He looked around the room, to his son, his brother, and his wife. "We're leaving. We're—" he looked at his failed comrade— " _all_ leaving."

Clementine sneered, having David's gaze only just leave her. Javier stumbled over his next few words, and he stepped closer to his brother. "A-And go where?! There's nothing but the herd out there, and you know that!"

David growled, "And I'm saving my family. And you too, Clem. You helped and...and you're coming along." She couldn't speak. Her gut writhed at the thought of leaving. After all this. After— After _everything._ "Let's go, we can't wait for long—"

Kate's voice pierced through Clementine's thoughts: "This is bullshit, David!"

Javier, too pulled from his stunned thoughts, snapped, "Absolutely not! Richmond will die without us! We can't—!"

"They don't matter right now, Javi! Don't you get that?!"

From the corner of Clementine's eye, she saw Kate run a tight grip through her air, brows narrowed. "This all started the day we knocked on Richmond's door! We brought this on those people! _All_ of us! We can't abandon them! Not after what we've done!"

"We're going home, Kate! Back to where we were last as a family! We're all together again, finally! W—"

"David. I-I know, okay? I get it. I wouldn't mind starting over myself. But..." Javier released a hard sigh, and he glanced at Clementine for support. "We can't go home," he said, watching her expression soften. Javier turned back to David. "Our home was a part of our old life. We can make Richmond the home of this _new_ one. I'm not running from that, David. I can't."

David held his breath, then exhaled slowly. "And I'm glad you won't run. For once. But, Javi, the world's out their waiting for us. We can't stay. We're hated here."

The garage dipped into a brief silence, aside from the curious walkers thumping on the generator. Gabe, self-assured, picked up his head. "I'll, I'll go with you, Dad."

 _What the actual fuck!?_ Clementine's head snapped towards him as he walked to his father. "Gabe?!"

"He's my dad, Clem. I have to go," Gabe said. "I'm sorry, but you wouldn't understand."

Her gaze hardened, and her throat tightened. Javier, noting Clementine's slight, and his own bouts of worry, winced. "Think this over, buddy."

Kate, with a hint of pain, asked, "Gabe? Is this what you really want?"

He nodded. "I know it's scary out there, but I have to."

With his comforting hand on Gabe's shoulder, David promised, "You don't have to be afraid, Gabe. What happened to Mariana won't happen to you. You have my word."

"He wouldn't have been afraid," Javier snapped, "if you came back. Neither of them would have." His smile was brief. "I wish you got to know her. Her smile, man, lit up the whole room," he said.

"And I won't miss another moment now. You have my word."

Kate, with a grim acceptance, said, "I understand, Gabe. I understand." Her eyes flicked to the bulldozer. " _I'm_ going back. I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I didn't try to save the people in Richmond."

David scoffed. "You won't be able to live _at all_ if you do that. Richmond—" he jutted his hand out of the garage— "is compromised! Doesn't matter if there were five of us trying to save it, or five-hundred. We would all die. I know a losing battle when I see one. We're moving out! Everyone get in, and that's an ord—"

He failed to notice Kate storm in his direction in three strides. David never entertained the idea that she would slap him. And with him stunned, Kate snarled, "How fucking dare you?! What will it take, David?!" Gabe froze, watching the two in fear. Clementine and Javier shared a surprised glance. "What will it take to show you that you do not get to do that?!" Her jaw tightened as she hissed between her teeth, "We-are- _not_ -your-soldiers!" Kate backed away, wringing her hands in the air. "Go away to 'home!’ Be a deserter! I am done with you!"

David blinked, dumbfounded. His chest ached as she added, "I can't believe I ever loved you..." Kate turned around. "Let's go, Javi."

"Why the fuck do you think he would go with you?!"

It was on an impulse. A touch of scorn. Kate pressed her lips on Javier's, then pulled away. Her eyes were cold as she watched David's rising anger and anguish. "Tell him."

Javier gaped for air, processing the sudden warmth on his lips that was quickly removed.

"What the fuck is this?!" David growled. "Javi!"

"I... David, we're— Neither of us meant for it to happen. It just happened. We're— We’re in love and... I love her, man," he said, almost quiet. “I-I’m sorry. It wasn’t—"

David's hands balled. "I should've known." He began to circle his brother, who paced in suit. A gnarly shark with a nervous dolphin. "The night Pa died. The night _you_ weren't there!"

"David, please! I-I tried, man. I did. I didn't want it to hap—"

"No! Blood is _worthless_ to you!" He pulled back his sleeves. Clementine saw a new ghost haunt his eyes, one of violence. Unfathomed anger. "Just like Pa's worthless to you! Just like _I'm_ worthless to you!” His face was warped into a sneer as his fists crackled. “Well now, I'll show you what blood _really means!"_

"Dav—" His brother swung, clobbering Javier in the stomach. Kate screamed for David to _stop_ whilst Javier was shunted into the wall.

"What do you have to say for yourself, brother?"

"David, _stop it!”_

"Please, Dad!"

Javier, his world crumbling to pieces, choked. He never wanted this. Pulled in between, the inevitable fight with Kate on one side, David on the other. Both. He wanted to save them both. In a grizzly whimper, Javier said, "I love you!"

David staggered. "No. _No!_ You do not get to do that!" His fists plummeted into Javier's sides, sending him to the ground.

"DAVID, FUCKING STOP!"

He ignored his wife's—no, no, that _woman's—_ livid pleas. He grabbed a tool from a toolbox—it didn’t matter what the damn thing was.

"David, put the fucking wrench down!" Clementine snarled with Gabe striding towards the two brothers. Javier twisted around at Clementine's words, barely able to save his face from the damn thing. Gabriel's yell to stop the fight was cut off once David swung backwards, knocking it into his jaw. "Gabe!"

David hadn't paused. Not like back in the apartment. David was rabid. Ballistic. He continued to choke is brother with the wrench at his jugular.

Yet, Javier couldn’t fight back.

Both… He kept Kate alive. And Gabe. And Mariana---until he couldn’t. But David, he didn’t know. He didn’t know that his brother had been alive. How could he? Javier choked, his shoulders tense. Javier wasn’t going to lie about Kate; she gave him something he never felt. At the same time, Javier couldn’t throw his brother away. Not like this. He—

His head spun. From the wrench, and from the nightmare he managed to plunge himself into. With all the energy Javier had, he still managed, "I love you... I love you, brother!"

The other three grew more hysterical: Gabe with tears running down his cheeks, Kate struggling to find anything—absolutely _anything—_ to put an end to it all, and Clementine with snow whipping her thoughts. "Stop it!" she screamed, an echo of all those years before. There, the Devil's choice came back to her. And it shot an arrow of pain into her shoulder.

Kate—with nothing found—reached to catch Clementine as she sagged against the wall with a jolt of agony. The grip around her shoulder was sharp, and she hissed a crackled breath. But she was pulled from the wall before comforting hands could find her.

Clementine reached for her hip.

_Not again. Not. Again._

Her steps were hesitant at first—barreled with the sudden bout of nausea that forced warmth into her mouth. Then, her steps were frantic.

_I asked you. Never. Again. You lied. You lied to me._

She halted once dirt crunched underneath her boots.

_Not Javi. No, not Javi._

He was family, wasn't he? An uncle. _Her_ uncle. The pistol in her hands aimed. She wouldn't turn her head. Not this time. Never again.

Snow overturned the horizon, and she was that frail little girl in the blue coat again. Clementine bared her teeth, the pistol throbbing against her hands. All she saw was snow, and the brawl of a woman and man flickered overtop the brothers. All she heard was white noise, not the screams of Kate who realized what Clementine sought to do.

She ignored everything. Gabriel, who watched her with an inkling of betrayal. The walkers, who started to turn their heads from the engine.

It was just David. And the flask. And the snow. And Javier García.

But this time, no deaths. Just a shot. Clementine swallowed to control her breath, her eyes focused.

The shot shrieked as it split through the air, and it sank deep into David's shoulder. His cry was abrupt, and he rolled off of Javier in an instant. David got to his feet in a matter of seconds, holding his shoulder and looking at her and her sudden treachery.

Neither brother knew what to make of what they saw. In her eyes, they saw not the whiskey and dragon. She was sober now. Sober with a beast’s fire. An absolute inferno. The chaos she ever so desperately wanted to escape.

There stood Clementine with Kenny's monster lurking inside. Twisting. Writhing. Thrashing.

Javier croaked as all the color drained from his face. _Clementine… Clementine, n-no._ He saw the beast she was hiding from. And that beast, it warped her face into one of terrified madness. One that horrified him. He half-expected her to drop to her knees and point the gun to the side of her head, though it never came.

Her eyes flickered over David's shoulder. Everything hummed. There were no thoughts. No emotion. She fired once again, ignoring Kate's shout as a walker was knocked to the ground. Javier scrambled to his feet, bashing several down before he scampered back to the garage. And Clementine followed, wordless. There were so many.

And inside, Clementine looked at Javier, Kate and— "NO!”

The garage, with David and Gabe outside, was tugged down forcefully. All three ran towards the door, and Javier hysterical. He scampered at the edges to pull it back open. The truck's engine roared to life. The wheels spun to quickly charge out of their line of sight.

"He took Gabe!" Clementine hissed, swallowing the monster that ravaged within her. Silencing it for another battle.

Kate nodded bitterly. "He— He wanted to go. He did, you heard him," she said, hollow. Her eyes were still kept to Clementine. Kate had noticed how tired Clementine sounded without that buzz of alcohol.

"You're right... I know… I know, you're right."

Kate's eyes were then set on the bulldozer. "I'm getting on that. We can't stay here any longer than we have, and we need to help Richmond. _I_ need to."

Clementine, with a sure gaze, agreed: "And so am I. You're going to need extra hands." She turned to Javier, who only just broke his gaze from where David and Gabe disappeared. "And you...Javi? Are you—"

"Yes, I'm going," he said. "I— Richmond needs all the help it can get. And, and it's our fault. I can't run away from that." Javier looked at the two, tightening his jaw and nodding. "Come on." His eyes travelled to the lockers lining the wall of the garage. "And if we're going to go into the herd, we'll need these." He pulled out heavy rifles, and an AK-47. With each person equipped with their weapon, the trio charged for the bulldozer.

Kate slipped into the driver’s seat, and they took off. While it wasn't the speed demon of wheels, the machine crushed everything in its path with brute force, leaving a trail of splattered remains.

By the time they reached the main gate, they were stunned by the presence of horses and—

"What a happy sight! Mind getting the gate open for us?"

"Jesus?!" Javier asked. "I barely recognized you!"

Jesus grinned in his armor, hair tied in a bun, all of which revealed his powerfully-built shoulders. He turned his steed around with a nod. "Once I made contact with my people, I headed right back. Had to make sure you folks were safe."

"I'm getting the hang of this, Javi! I'll get you to the gate, alright?!" Kate yelled from the cockpit.

"Yeah, okay!"

Clementine, gunning several walkers down, said, "I'll cover!"

Kate, grunting as she maneuvered the levers, glanced at Javier. "Get in the buskin!"

"The—"

"THIS!" The bucket waved, barely flinging off the walkers as Clementine dealt with them. He hopped in, slipping and sliding, before they reached the gate. Javier was propped up to the control center for the gate; once clambered on top, he glanced behind.

The dead had conquered Richmond. Everywhere he looked, there wasn't a muerto-free slab of concrete—no building safe. "There's hell to pay," he snarled to himself, punching a button in the control—and it was a sign of luck that the button was exactly what they needed.

Down below, as the Kate and Jesus' group cheered and neighed, Clementine frowned.

Her skin prickled. She looked up. It was going to rain. Hell would pay its price, she was sure. But, that didn't mean hell wouldn't drag people down with it.

She loaded the assault rifle. With Javier on the other side, and Kate charging forward with the small herd of horses in the lead, Clementine said, "I'll never get tired of watching these bastards fall."

Javier nodded. "We're one and the same."

**— — — — — — — —**

Rain pattered from the grey clouds looming above, just what her intuition promised. Her intuition, too, vowed something else. Something far more sinister: Richmond may have been in good hands, but the dead always claimed every scrap of the living they could manage. She just hoped it didn't spread death that night. Not… Not more than Ava.

Clementine and Javier, undeterred by the storm, navigated through the streets in determined, worried strides. She didn't speak as Javier, eyes alert and wary, darted back and forth. He shuffled from building to building. Whispering, then hissing, then barking, then over again.

"They— They have to _be_ here! They can't have gone far, the herd, they— Oh God, please. Please..."

His head swiveled towards alleyways as Clementine kept ahead of him, ducking around corners to ensure that nobody—alive or rotting—was watching them. They splashed through a puddle as Javier jerked his head to the right. There, he saw a pile of muertos motionless underneath a crashed, blue truck. The very same—

"Clementine!" he hissed. Javier bolted down the street with Clementine at his heel.

At the foot of the truck, Clementine kept her eyes out as Javier looked inside. "David, no!" he cried He lurched himself back away with his hand over his mouth, eyes closed and jaw strained. Even though she was still numbed by the adrenaline ricocheting throughout her body, Clementine could feel the jolt of pain that etched itself in Javier’s chest. But the man kept scouring, however. Desperate. Panicked… She was almost jealous that he could feel the same pain she hid away so long ago; even so, from what she did feel—the way her body ached and mourned for Javier—,she knew it was a fleeting, selfish prospect.

Clementine neared the passenger door of the truck and glanced inside, just able to catch the David lying motionless across the seats, a large crater in his head. His eyes were white, and his skin that familiar, sickly grey. She swallowed as Javier paced around, eyes peeled for Gabe in the midst of his shattered heart. Clementine lingered, and she turned back to the milky white of David’s blank stare. In his eyes, she could still see those who haunted him during his waking breaths.

A walker's groan came from behind, and it jolted Clementine from her momentary line of thought. However, all it took was a rush of adrenaline, the white noise, and a quick stab to its head to deal with it. Within seconds, it was dropped to the ground, and Clementine felt nothing but the numbing pulse of rushing blood.

Javier looked around the construction barriers as Clementine caught sight of another walker. "Gabriel! Oh, please, no!" For a moment, Clementine froze, and the walker hung from her blade. She shoved it off as he heard Gabe choke over his words, weakly holding out his wrist. Blood painted his skin and clothes, and his skin was pale—the same tone that came just before the same familiar, sickly grey.

"B-But I couldn't... There were so many. That's— That's when I tried to stop him, but w-we crashed..." Gabe sobbed, eyes to his wrist, teeth marks gouging his skin. "I fucked up. I-I fucked up." He whimpered, eyes back to Javier who continuously shook his head in denial. Clementine's steps forward grew slower by the second, her head buzzed erratically. "After everything you t-taught me... I-It hurts...really bad..."

"No, no you didn't fuck up!" Javier choked. "You did everything you could, Gabe, o-okay?! Do you hear me?!"

Clementine knelt beside them. Her voice was clogged, and all at once the world around her focused: "Gabe, _no!"_ Each word shattered. And how could it not? This shouldn’t have happened. Not another one. Not another friend. Not another one stolen from her.

He watched her, and Gabe winced as he reached for his pocket with a shaken hand. "Clementine, can you do— _Engh._ Do me one favor?"

"Gabe, no, don't..."

"Take my cards." He pulled them out. His blood had seeped through the deck, unfazed by the rain that drizzled overhead.

"W-What...?"

"Please...take them," he said, slipping them to her. Her hands trembled as she felt the weight of an anvil settle her grip. She cried. It was a sudden, wrenching burst of emotion that pained her shoulder. How could Clementine forget the way her body could tremble? She shook her head. _Not another one. Fuck, not another one…_

"Teach A.J how to play Euchre, okay?"

With a knot in her throat, she nodded and pocketed the cards. "O-Okay, I will." Clementine grabbed his hands, holding them between her own. "Be strong, Gabe, for whatever comes next," she whispered painfully. Everything throbbed. Within that minute, everything had warped from absolutely nothing but the walkers on the ground and the storm overhead, to the distortion only reality could bring.

Gabe nodded. And with the last of his energy, he promised, "I will."

For a long moment, she held his hands before finally squeezing them. "Bye, Gabe."

"Bye, Clem," he answered quietly. Sniffing, Clementine got to her feet and backed away. Gabe turned to his uncle. "Javi, give me your gun. I-I don't want to become a muerto."

Javier, stunned, bared his teeth and shook his head. "Gabe... I-I don't know if I can let you do that to yourself. I— I can't just—"

Gabe's breath shuddered. "And I can't let you do that for me. Just, just give me the gun." Javier closed his eyes, his skull tight as everything it contained throbbed. "Hurry...please, Javi. Give it to me."

Javier stood, opening his bleary eyes. He loaded the pistol, and Clementine broke her gaze from the ground to him. "N-No Gabe," he mumbled, "I'll do it." Clementine felt her heart split. She blinked, and in the distance, she saw herself in a jewelry store, dragging a man through door inch-by-inch.

Clementine felt every piece of Javier’s growing pain, and she swallowed, braving it once more. For him.

But, at the same time, as she watched Javier and Gabe, Clementine was suddenly an outsider to this moment—a painful reminder of everything she sought to forget. Gabe bowed his head. "Okay...okay," he said softly. He brought it up again. "You may not be my father, Javi," Gabriel said, each word increasingly forced out of him as his life flickered, "but you were a...great dad... I-I love you, Jav—"

"I love you too, buddy," Javier whimpered, his grip on the pistol trembling. Gabe set his head down, and he relaxed his body as he waited. With a gasp of breath, Javier raised the gun and pointed. It took several long seconds—the very same that Clementine knew—before his finger squeezed on the trigger. Clementine flinched, though her eyes didn't tear themselves from the sight.

His eyes were closed. Peaceful. A narrow tunnel through his beanie.

Javier stumbled away, down the street with his eyes set on the road. She knew what it was. The mindless trail of absolutely nothing but a void of disbelief. Clementine followed him through the aches and pains of her limbs, the cards still the heaviest weight on her person. At an intersection, Javier stopped, and he slowly sunk to his knees with his face in his hands.

She got to her knees as well, her hand on his shoulder. "I... I..."

"I know," Clementine whispered.

He brought his face from his hands, watching her. "That moment," Javier asked, throat clogged, "when you—when you shot Lee, it doesn't leave you, does it? It's in your sleep, isn't it? His face? His last breath?"

Everything crumbled. They embraced each other, arms tight. "Always," she cried. "He's always there. But...but he's the one that forgives me, Javi. He's the only one that forgives me."

"Okay...okay... I-I... You think Gabe will too? And Mari?"

She nodded against him. "They will. They already _have."_

"Okay... Okay..."

Javier clung onto Clementine, grateful of the kid that had once held him at gunpoint. He was glad that he saw the spark of youth in her eyes—the scrap of humanity that she’d unveiled and strengthened by his side. He wept into her shoulder as the downpour grew, his thoughts on the only thing he could manage to hang onto:

Clementine was a nice hugger.

**— — — — — — — —**

Everything was...peaceful. And quiet.

In Richmond, those who wandered outside—in the grass and sunlight—kept to themselves or within their closely-knitted groups. The wind brushed against the leaves of the bushes and trees, and the sun was jovial along the bright sky.

Clementine sipped on her flask, finally relaxing her shoulders for a long moment. She sighed, however, knowing that the peace would only be a moment in time. The world outside the gates cried for her. Cried for her to reunite with A.J once more. With another sip before stowing the flask away, Clementine felt the buzz prickle throughout her body, giving her the energy to move forward, accompanied by a certain form of duty.

Hooves clipped the ground before she looked up at the rider. "See you, Clementine," Jesus said as he passed by.

"You watch yourself out there," she replied, knowing damn well the _walkers_ where what needed the advice—and Jesus knew too, judging from his lazy wave. Clementine shook her head and scratched the back of her neck. She felt the long strands of hair that had overgrown, the same that’d become a nuisance to manage. In thought, Clementine strode over towards Javier by the water fountain.

Once at his side, Javier exhaled softly. "So, you're going too?"

Clementine nodded. "Yeah, it's time... I need to find him."

"I know you do," he whispered, overlooking the courtyard. Children had raced out onto the patchwork field of grass with laughter and play. "I'm...going to be leading this place."

"That's good," Clementine said, arms folded casually. "You know how to lead people. I'm sure Richmond will be better off."

Javier chuckled to himself. "Yeah... Funny thing is, I think you'd do better at it than me."

She shook her head. "No. No, I'm not...the leader type. You know I don't go with groups to begin with."

"Oh," Javier countered gently, "but I see a strong leader, even if you're the loner-wolf type."

Clementine rolled her eyes, dismissing his comment with a wry grin. “That’s…never going to happen. I— I seriously doubt it. I’d probably get my leg blown off before it ever happens.” He smiled cheekily as she turned away, glancing at the church. "But, I do have a favor to ask."

"And what's that?"

She pinched the bill of her cap tenderly before slipping it off. Clementine turned back to Javier, her baseball hat in her hands. "Can you cut my hair? It's...been getting a bit long."

Javier nodded. "Sure thing. Yeah...I can." As he strode off to find scissors, Clementine found a table that was set by the grass, and then left her hat on the table’s surface. She pulled out the hair ties and clips, pocketing them—and she pocketed a lot more than she expected. Clementine frowned at the shadow she casted over the wood of the table. It had been so long since Clementine had seen her hair down—usually, when she found a big enough body of _relatively_ clean water to bathe in (something that, you know, wouldn’t have visible parasites to kill her), she was within the shadows.

"Hold up there... Is that a 'fro I see?"

Clementine swiveled around with an arched brow. Javier snickered as he twiddled the scissors in the air. "Yeah. That's why I need it cut."

"I didn't know you had an _afro_ though," he continued, eyeing the blank canvas he had to work with. Javier thought back to his many celebrity inspirations with a rub of his beard. Diana Ross kept coming to mind. And Michael Jackson—before he… Javier grimaced. Diana Ross would be the muse then…

"My mom had one too."

"Really?" he asked, starting to trim her hair down. "Were your parents black?"

"Oh," Clementine murmured, concentrating. She thought back to her childhood memories, avoiding the horrid night the week prior. Javier remained knowingly silent as the echoes of two gunshots lingered in her thoughts. "Well..." Clementine swallowed. "Well, my dad was. My mom was too, but she was mixed. I think...Mexican and Irish...? Italian? I don't know. Well, definitely Korean—my grandpa, I think, was? Or half of her family was? …something like that. She had light skin like me."

Javier nodded along. "That's interesting. A lot of my family's Cuban, but I got some Native American and Dutch in me too."

"Dutch?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. Somebody couldn't resist sticking it into someone exotic—"

Clementine's eyes went wide, and she swatted him with her hat. " _Javier,_ the fuck is wrong with you?!" she snapped as he chortled gleefully.

"Hey, I'm just sayin' how it is, alright? And besides, that went on a lot more with your bloodline than mine."

"And that's supposed to mean...?"

"You're really mixed." Clementine sighed heavily, not allowing herself to bite back in response. With a smug grin, Javier continued to cut her hair artsy-like. (…that is how hairstylists cut hair, right? Artsy-like?) "But um..." he murmured after a while, "your family, birth family I mean... Well, I mean before the muertos..."

Clementine furrowed her brows. "Yeah...?"

He shrugged his shoulders, his rhythm and snips slowing to a crawl. "You were young, right? Do you remember how it was before?"

Clementine grew quiet, momentarily lost in thought. She wrung her wrists and itched for her flask. "I mean, it's not like I don't have memories of my childhood. But they're not...clear, you know? They're fuzzy, and I forget them most of the time. They'll pop up every now and then because something reminded me of school or my treehouse or home." She laughed sourly before pursing her lips into a bitter grin. "I can barely see faces. They're either rotting or just...not there. Not my teachers...not my friends... Not— Not really my parents. But I remember buildings. My old school. My home. My—" she breathed another laugh— " treehouse."

"I wonder if that makes living in this world easier," he said.

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know." Javier kept his eyes on her, working on his craftsmanship as a hairstylist. "The older you get, the more stuck-in-your ways you are. You rarely see older folks anymore. Hell, you're probably some of the youngest they get when it comes to outside Richmond... Point is," he answered, "you don't have to think about all of what you lost as much. Everybody who was alive _then_ lost something, but you didn't have to lose thirty years of building yourself up, you know?"

"Yeah, I get what you're saying."

Javier stared at the large lock of hair he had just freed Clementine from with wide eyes. Leaving it to the ground, he figured that he'd do an undercut; it wasn't the _original_ plan, but that's what he'd do. "And," he said, tucking his blunder under the figurative rug (he stamped the thing against the grass), "children bounce back... I just wish it wouldn't come to half the things we do now. Kate and I... We tried to protect them, you know? Make it so they didn't have to do the things they're too young to do." Clementine remained quiet, her hands clasped together.

"I just wonder though...if, if that's what got them killed. I treated them like kids like how we used to. And kids...hell, a lot of people were kids when they were in their early twenties. They didn't know half the shit you do."

"Well, they went to school more than me," Clementine murmured.

Javier's chuckle was too hollow to express the tension he felt rise off of him. "Yeah...I just wonder. With Kate and I...if we ever have some of our own, I want them to have Mariana's heart, Gabe's wit—especially for card games—and your...spirit."

"I thought you said you didn't gamble anymore."

"Well...I don't, but if it means they'll live, Clem, I do want them to have your greatest strength." Javier continued his masterpiece, only to find that his undercut was patchy. He grimaced, then proceeded to work on smoothing it out; were these scissors dull, or were his hands dull?

Mariana had asked that question once. The memory brought a grin to his face, one that Clementine felt him wear as she stared at the table. "I used to cut Mariana's hair," he explained, answering her nonverbal curiosity.

Clementine said, "That's nice."

"Yeah... She said I was terrible."

Clementine's brow rose. "...are you?"

"Uh—" Javier cut another of the patches away— "none of your business."

"Oh really?"

"Yeah."

She kept her eyes on her lap, now worried. Though, as Javier took great care with his hands, cutting her hair gently, Clementine thought it wouldn't be that bad (...right? Was that a good thing to think?). Clementine held her hands together. A nasty thought that had burrowed itself within her for years had resurfaced: "I... What if I'm not the right person to raise him?"

Javier breathed in and out calmly. "You know, every parent has thought of that at one point, Clem, even me and Kate, and we've never been biological parents. I know you're a good mom, Clem. I can tell by how you talk about him. You're not a perfect person, but you're very protective of people from what I've seen, and they weren't A.J. I can't imagine how protective you are of him."

"But...I don't know what I'm doing. I can't..." Her flask—the one and true best friend Clementine had for the past year or so—burned against her hip. She shifted as Javier paused to reevaluate some hair choices he made.

How strange was it that a leather-clad bottle had bound itself to her? Like another limb? Whenever it didn't hold her tight, she felt an empty crater within her chest.

A leech.

Clementine nearly jumped at the idea that her best friend was nothing more than a parasite. With A.J at the forefront of her thoughts, a battle raged on.

She relaxed her shoulders and sighed. Javier said, "Well, I don't think a lot of people do now. Especially since this world wasn't here five or six years ago." He clipped the last of her hair and rested his hand on his hip in thought, the other grooming his wispy-haired beard. "But you'll bring him back. There isn't any other person I can think of who could raise him."

"I...don't know." Clementine frowned, the internal war continuing. "Would... Would you teach us how to play baseball when we come back?"

Javier smiled. "Yeah, of course. And I'll make for damn sure neither of you are sluggers." Clementine chuckled quietly. "Alright," Javier said, backing a few steps away, "I'm done."

Excitement bubbled within Clementine. With a grin, she stood up and looked at Javier expectantly. "So how does it look?"

His grin froze in shock before it could be completely wiped away. The artsy-style had abandoned him. Everything was uneven. Why wasn't her hair as straight and easy as everybody else?! "Uh..." Clementine's expression froze, her eyebrow raising.

In short, Mariana was rolling in her grave.

Defeated, Javier deflated and mumbled, "I'm just going to get your hat..." Clementine's giddiness was extinguished once the baseball cap was slid on her head. Once she fixed it, Javier gave a meek thumbs-up. "Now it looks rad!" he tried to convince. "Would be even better if it weren't for the team."

"Team?"

"Yeah...it's a lame baseball team." She rolled her eyes.

They began to walk away from the table towards the church. "Oh. This was my dad's hat," she said, "and...I think he may have been a baseball fan. I don't know, he had a lot of hats like this."

"Were any of them of mine?" Javier asked, strolling backwards as he puffed out his chest, presenting his jersey to her.

With a smirk, she said, "Doubt it."

"What?!"

Clementine snorted, and answered with a few giggles: "Bet."

Javier rolled his eyes. "I _don't_ gamble."

"...bet."

"Uncle Clem..."

"Bet, bet."

Javier couldn't resist joining in on the laughter. Both made their way onto the steps as the double doors opened. Kate grinned, and her eyes darted between the two of them. "What's so fun— Oh...my god." Kate stared at Clementine. "Did Javi cut your hair?"

"How do you know it was me?!"

Kate folded her arms and narrowed her eyes. "Javi, the last time you tried to cut Mariana's hair, you split her eyebrow in half."

Clementine gawked, her eyes wide as she stared at Javier. "What. Did. You. Do?"

Javier crossed his arms dismissively, then scowled. "Mariana liked it... And anyway, it doesn't look bad with the hat on."

"Javi!" Kate gasped with a small grin. "You are not a barber."

"She asked me to!" He added, softly, "As a parting gift."

Kate's grin dropped somewhat as she glanced at Clementine. "You're leaving now?"

Clementine nodded. "Yeah. I might as well while the sun's still out and the herd's thin. I don't know how long it'll be before they come back. Someone said that they saw a group of them down south coming up."

"Like an aftershock?" Javier asked. She only nodded. "Well, we covered the hole, so at least there isn't any way they'll be coming in for a long time."

"Come on," Kate said, jerking her chin back to the church. "If that's the case, then I found something that will help with the muertos." Clementine followed Kate, leaving Javier to gaze across the grass towards the children at play. Inside, Kate rummaged through a crate beside a few benches. "It may be a bit tight if you zipped it, but it's leather. It should keep them from biting through."

Kate pulled out a red leather jacket. Patches were frayed and the color was worn, though it was otherwise in good condition. Clementine smiled and took it. "Thank-you. This is nice."

"Consider it _my_ parting gift." Kate crossed her arms tenderly and leaned against the wall as Clementine slipped it on. "So...? How is it?"

She stretched with few restrictions. Her eyes analyzed the length of the sleeves, which covered her wrists completely. "It is a little tight around the shoulders, but I like it. It's nice." Clementine tugged on the collar, folding it down. "It'll definitely get the job done, that's for sure."

"That's good. Hopefully it'll last," Kate said. She paused for a moment, watching Clementine solemnly. "Will you...come back?"

"Yeah, I think so..." Clementine replied. "With A.J. Maybe it won't be forever, but long enough."

Kate nodded slowly, then sighed. "It'll be strange, not having any kids around." Her eyes wandered towards the board of pictured casualties, to which Clementine followed her gaze. "I just...I don't know what to do, you know? It's not like I can start over immediately, but will I ever get the chance after today?"

"I'm not one to know," Clementine murmured. "I just...hope I see the sun rise and fall again."

The doors opened as Kate remained quiet, thoughts ablaze. Javier stood in the warm sunlight. "Nice jacket," he commented.

"Thanks."

The trio stood silent, the urge to speak unbearable. Instead, Javier pursed his lips and glanced at the afternoon sun as a gesture. Clementine nodded, leaving the church with Javier and Kate following. They made their way towards the main gate. Javier whistled up above, alerting the few guards to raise it. As the gate whined, trembling as it revealed more light, Javier exhaled slowly. "You...uh...you go and keep yourself safe out there, kid."

Clementine arched a brow. "Kid...? I think you mean _uncle."_ Javier chuckled as she embraced him. "I will, Javi. Don't worry."

"I... I know. I've just heard some rumors about riots, and then the muertos—"

"Javi, I'll be okay."

Javier nodded as they broke away from their hug. Kate wrapped her arms around Clementine, murmuring, "Just... I know you will, but do be safe for us."

Clementine smiled gently. "I know, I know. I promise."

With the gate open, Clementine lead the way down the street. Javier and Kate lagged behind after passing a few cars. She turned around and waved, her eyes burning as Javier and Kate waved back, their arms around each other. Clementine then looked forward with eyes set in determination, accompanied by her elongated shadow trailing behind, underneath the orange sun.

She didn't look back.

Clementine felt the call for A.J deep in her bones, guiding her steps out of Richmond. And her flask, she heard its persuasive melody hum throughout her aching muscles.

For a moment, the mental battle within her ceased, allowing a sip of whisky to wash all of her troubling anxieties away. The pains that desperately wanted to haunt her. Clementine knew, from the bottom of her heart, that a fight would come to pass.

The question was, who would see the rising and falling sun the next day?

Clementine clenched her jaw as she neared the train's entrance.

That was always the question, wasn't it?

**[3 Weeks Later]**

Everything melded together that night. Clementine’s thoughts were numb, yet her body surged with hellfire. She still tasted the whiskey on her tongue as hooves crackled against the ground.

She could smell the burning of flesh several miles away. By the time Clementine neared the ranch, she was appalled by the cloud of ash looming above, overtaking the night’s sky. By how the building choked on the smoke as it poured out from many of the windows and doors. By how the oranges and reds of fire illuminated her eyes, the golden yellow in them igniting.

Her steed heaved from beneath her. Clementine charged forward, only to hear a gunshot. A jolt. The horse bucked and reared, screaming in pain. She fell onto the hard stone, and with her, the horse plummeted to the ground. She gasped through the burn of her palms. The horse whinnied as the life in his eyes drained away. She crawled towards the belly of the horse, and all Clementine heard were the distant screams of the night.

She then found the culprit who shot at her and fired into his shoulder without thought. The white noise had completely engulfed her body—it didn’t faze her to find a chunk of his neck had been blown off. Clementine charged towards the man as he gagged, his hand pressed deep against the hole. Pistol raised, she snapped, "I'm looking for a boy! About three-years old, where is he?!" He shook his head, and blood gurgled from between his teeth. She scowled. Her anger was charged, and Clementine unloaded a bullet into his cranium. It was so simple. So _easy._ The white noise shielded her from the way his face splattered, and it covered the way his body slumped in irregular shapes. She swiveled towards the double doors, allowing the white noise and alcoholic buzz direct her every move.

Yet she was held back. It was as if a string had been tied to her spine, and just from one light pull, Clementine was forced to a halt. Her heart lurched. Her head spiked in pain. Clementine blitzed around. "A.J?!"

A child stood at the end of the stone bridge she'd crossed, behind the horse. But not A.J. The little girl wore a yellow dress with dark leggings, and striped sleeves. She couldn't have been younger than eight.

Wait. _The_ girl in the yellow dress. Clementine blinked.

The little girl vanished. Clementine lingered, momentarily possessed by the urge to follow her. Track the fucking girl down. Ask her why she’d been following Clementine the past nights. In her dreams. In her waking moments. All of it.

She sneered and twisted towards the barn. She didn’t give a damn about the girl—whoever she was. Whatever the girl wanted from her, it didn’t matter. A.J was inside, and _he_ was who mattered. The fire was messing with her head. And—

The smell. Oh, how the smell would haunt her... Their flesh. Their shrieks. The cracks and screams of the wood.

And their fearful eyes.

Oh, how their fearful eyes would stain her...

**— — — — — — — —**

A guard ripped him from his ritualistic watch of the landscape with fists hammering at the apartment door: "Javier! Clementine's at the gate! She's waiting to see you!"

Clementine didn't have to wait for much longer. The gate hadn’t even closed yet, and she was parked along the side of the road. Javier jogged his last bolting steps to meet her, earnest. The one thing he didn't expect was for Clementine to return with a set of wheels—especially one that he wanted to drive himself _before_ the apocalypse.

And Clementine... She looked ill. Not sickly, or nauseous. Ill of mind. Her stare was hollow, and her skin was pale. It looked as if she had seen a ghost.

No.

Javier slowed his last few paces. He had seen that look in her eyes before. When she shot David’s shoulder, promptly ending their last fight.

It was the beast again. Except now, it was tired. _Worn._

Clementine sat on the trunk, her arms wrapped around herself with a little boy by her side. As Javier approached, the boy (who he knew had to be A.J) watched him nervously. "It's okay," Clementine whispered, "he's not going to hurt you." A.J watched her as she nodded, then looked to Javier. He was still nervous.

Javier smiled gently and offered his hand. "I'm Javi, little guy," he greeted kindly. A.J grabbed a finger, unsure, before pulling away. Javier furrowed his brows. "I, uh...heard about the fire at the ranch. I was worried about you and him, if you'd be able to make it."

"I got there after it broke out," Clementine murmured hoarsely. The life in her voice was gone. The fire of alcohol. All of it. Just _gone._ Javier watched Clementine for a moment as she swayed in her seat. Perhaps…she _did_ look a bit nauseous, but it was that Clementine was holding it back with everything she had. "They kept him in a locker...to keep him safe from the fire." She swallowed and clenched her jaw. Most definitely holding everything back.

Javier leaned forward and kept a hand on her shoulder, if only to keep Clementine steady. "Do you know if others got out?"

Clementine shrugged. "If...they came across me...n-no." Her eyes burned, and she wiped away the tears before they fell. "There was...a man," her voice shook. "He asked me to... I don't know how he was still alive. Most of his body was already charred." Javier hugged her, to which she held him back. "And...a woman... She..."

"I'm sorry..."

She nodded against his shoulder. "I... I came back, to say goodbye." He pulled away. "I— You don't need to do your end of the deal...you know. E-Even if I didn’t get this car. I just...I can't stay here. I don't—" Clementine cut herself off as A.J clung to her side.

"I... I understand," he said sadly, his face growing more solemn. "Where would you go?"

"I don't know. North? South? West? ...east? It doesn't matter, just...away. Away from this _warzone."_

Javier nodded. "Well...could you stay for a day? We can supply you with gas when you leave."

"I think...I'd like that." She wrapped her arm around A.J and looked at him. "For him, before we leave."

"You'd do anything for him, wouldn't you?" Clementine nodded and reached to her hip. She pulled out her square flask and forced it into Javier's hands. "What—?"

"Take it. I— I'd do anything for him, and I can't... I can't bring myself to do that anymore, live off of that thing. Just take it before I need it again." She shuddered, a tear falling. "And...thank-you. For everything."

"No, thank-you. Clementine," Javier began as he slipped the flask into his back pocket; even then, he knew he'd keep the flask, never to pour out the last of whiskey she could have drained away. "You are worth more than you believe. You are the only one I know who can raise A.J." Clementine's smile was watery. She didn't believe him. "Come on, rest now. You need it." He helped her off of the car, then jerked his chin, motioning to the guards to keep watch over the vehicle. And as the three of them walked away towards the center of Richmond, he hoped to God that she wouldn't suffer at her own hands again.

Javier knew he was kidding himself, but it felt better hoping.

He wanted to believe that her addiction—her demanding thirst—had been derailed with her flask in his possession. He wanted, with every fiber in his being, to believe that it had. The question was, however, would her hunger need rails to consume her? Had it already fueled something inside Clementine that desperately wanted to break free?

Javier watched her as she led A.J. There was something there...in her eyes. Just like Eleanor had once said. A dangerous beast in the midst of wildfire which her increasing sobriety revealed. It wasn’t a dragon, no. He now understood _that_ was the flask’s doing. But this? _This_ was something unnerving. Something worse. Clementine looked certainly ill, and drained. Javier kept himself quiet, though he saw the way her eyes dragged along the street; it was as if only a fraction of herself was present. The rest? Gone. Somewhere off to a lifetime ago. Every so often, she’d rub her shoulder from underneath her leather jacket with a firm brow.

With her, in her eyes, in the fraction that _was_ there with Javier, Clementine carried the living dead of those she killed. And while they never rose with white eyes and rattled breaths, they still roamed within. And it did worry Javier, the things that Clementine was capable of. What she _would_ be capable of.

What was worse? The dragon of that flask, or the nightmares that tormented her?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All done with Season Three: A New Frontier! Gonna miss writing Javi though...
> 
> Whelp, hope you enjoyed!  
> :)


	4. [Interlude] Episode 1.5: A Little Girl Remembered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It wasn't until Christa woke up at the riverbank, deaf in her right ear, did she realize what she lost. So she wanders alone. Bitter. Cold. Mournful. Calloused. Find the woman she once could've been. Find a little girl remembered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [First Draft & Edit] January 21st, 2021  
> [Final Edit] XXX XXth, 2021
> 
> [23,710 words]
> 
> Enjoy your time with Christa. ;)

**[5 Years Ago]**

The attic was musty with a haze of dust, not helped by the rhythmic bashing that slowly (but surely) drove a crater through the wall. Across the room the three sat, silent for a few moments as they allowed the wall’s destruction to fill their ears.

A man sat on a coffee table, and despite being of tall stature and impressive build, he was worse for wear. Breaths gradually coming undone and rattled by the hour. Skin not _quite_ as dark as it had been that morning—already it was a dull, bleak brown. Every now and again, his eyes would unfocus, and his weight would drift off to the side as if he was falling asleep.

And then there was the arm that had been chopped in half. That was an issue for his health too.

“Lee…”

He blinked and fixed his soft eyes back to the couple on a couch. The woman’s voice was gentle, if weary. She rubbed her white and purple jacket, and beside her sighed an overly-worn man with an infected leg who hadn’t yet cracked a joke. Which said a lot, considering Christa always found Omid to be the comedian.

Despite having asked for it, she turned away from Lee’s gaze and sighed. Omid, as direct as ever, asked the question that burned them both: “So what do we do, when we get there? Going to deal with the man or what?”

Lee shook his head. “Only if we have to… I don’t care about anything else. Clementine is what’s important right now. I just want to get to her safe and get her out of this shithole.”

“…and _you?”_

There it was. The core of what Christa wanted to hear, asked so quietly from her boyfriend’s mouth. But because it stung, she hissed, “Don’t talk like that. We’ll all get out of here and away from the city.”

“No, no… I’m not going to.”

“W- _Why?!_ I cut off that arm, didn’t I? Surely it did something!” Christa snapped, her throat tight.

“And it did,” Lee murmured quickly. “I don’t feel like I’m going to faint, and it’s like this fever’s gone down.” Omid and Christa watched him carefully as Lee rubbed his chest. “But it’s like I’m about to get sick, you know? The only difference is that I… It feels more than that. I’m so tired, and if Clementine wasn’t out there, I-I wouldn’t want t’ do anything.”

Gradually, Christa’s nod came, and Omid rubbed his hands together. “But…Clementine? What about her? After you…”

“Die?” It was so blunt and hollow, the couple could only grimace. What struck Christa the most was how calm Lee was. She wondered if he’d accepted his fate hours ago. Lee’s brow grew firm, and he watched them closely. “I want you two to take care of her, for after. I know she’ll be safe with you two.”

“Okay…” Omid whispered. Christa could only tighten her lips and nod again, her gaze drifting back towards the corner of the coffee table. The thought alone that a little girl was running around with a madman was enough to stress her, but the thought that it was _Clementine—_ the same girl who talked all about her plans when she saw her parents again, and how Lee was so much like her father, but maybe softer… Christa couldn’t even process it.

And Omid knew, so he gave a chuckle and said, “Well, I guess I’ll have to try out your shoes then, Lee. I’m good at being a friend, but not an apocalyptic baby-sitter.”

Lee’s laugh was rough, but humored. There was still a fraction of life, at least. “You’d slip and slide in them, Omid. I think yours would only fit my big toe.”

Omid snorted, then elbowed Christa. “You think you’d be able to fit them? You got big feet.”

Christa rolled her eyes and groaned. “Oh shut up. I’m not in the mood, Omid.” Though, her slight grin broke her lie. He laughed beside her and rubbed his wounded leg. Christa frowned, then asked, “Then…Clementine, what do you need us to do?”

“You’re the one who said I wasn’t doin’ the best,” Lee said with a shrug. “And you’re right. It’s hard, and sometimes I don’t know what’s best. But I tried to give Clementine everything I could in this hell, and all I ask is…” He chuckled. “Guess it’s not a light offer. All I ask is for her to have a chance to grow up, and you two are a good fit for that.”

“You better be right,” Omid sighed. “I’ve never even babysat a cousin. You, Christa?”

Christa watched him, brow arched, and he only smiled languidly, eyes flicking to her stomach. “You’re going to have to get used to it,” she murmured. Christa glanced at Lee, who watched the couple with a wide grin. “What?”

“You two are perfect,” he only noted.

Omid eased himself back with a smile of his own, though it faltered as he watched the wall behind them. Kenny, with a merciless, wicked force, continued to barrel the hat-stand into the wall. And with each swing, both Omid and Christa felt the frustration that hummed throughout the man. “But…what about him?” Omid turned back to Lee, who was solemn, his eyes still trained on Kenny. “You two’ve known each other longer, right?”

“Since the beginning…yeah.” Lee frowned, then said, “He’s lost a lot, you know. And right now, he’s not in the place to take care of anything. I don’t know where he is, actually. He’s just…”

“Angry?” Christa offered.

“Backed into a corner.” More of Lee’s energy drained out of him. “He’s lost so much, but I… I think he’s still in that corner.”

The bashing stopped.

The hat-stand was set down.

All three looked at Kenny as he rounded the corner, breathless. “All outta gas,” he said. Kenny clapped the back of the couch. “Switch?”

“Sure. Got an infected leg and everything,” Omid sighed.

“I can do it,” Christa murmured gently.

Omid shook his head and waved her off. “No, no. It’s okay. I’ll go and do it. I’m still the great body builder I’ve always been.”

Christa rolled her eyes as he hobbled up and around the couch, and she watched her boyfriend as he wriggled his way to the wall, stretching his leg. The bashing resumed just as Kenny sunk into the couch. He eyed Lee’s arm, and softened. “Shit… Lee, you’re— You’re all fucked up, aren’t you?”

Lee shrugged. “It’s not so bad now.”

Kenny shook his head slowly. “Nah. I… Shit, got all bit and everything. Real brave of you to tell us. Weren’t you scared?”

“I still am, a little bit,” Lee murmured. “But it’s nothing I can’t escape now.”

Christa chewed the inside of her cheek, then said, “Well, I’m glad you did. I’m not sure I would’ve stuck around if you hadn’t.”

“Well, thanks for staying behind.”

They dipped into another silence. Christa rubbed her hands together, Lee stared off into space—at his feet—, while Kenny dug through the box beside the couch, if to give himself something to do. He pulled out a bottle, and Christa understood completely. Not to give himself something to do, but rather drink.

Kenny’s smile was wry as he turned to Christa, and he asked, “This guy told you what we did before we met the two of you at that bridge?”

Christa answered, “Bits and pieces.”

“Well,” he laughed quietly, “there was a time when we were at each other’s throats. Right Lee?”

“Yeah, yeah. That’s right,” Lee said with a humored grin.

“Went to sleep hating this guy’s guts for a while there…” Kenny analyzed the bottle. “Well, there was this woman— _Lilly—_ and there was a lot of going back and forth about her dad, especially when he fell dead…” He frowned, and Christa saw an inkling of insecurity. Though, with the brave voice that he could muster, Kenny continued: “She got between us a lot, actually. Lee playing hero, of course—” another soft laugh— “while I just…well, um.” He swallowed. “Did the dad stuff.”

Lee nodded. “All behind us now, man. I don’t hold any grudge.”

Kenny hummed. He tapped the bottle with the beat of Omid’s labor, and the uncorked it. Immediately, as if it was water, he ducked a long gulp back and breathed deeply. Kenny held the alcohol for a moment, then held it out. “Want some?” he offered Lee.

Lee shrugged, and said, “Sure.”

Another gulp taken, one that relieved Kenny. When the bottle was returned, he rose it to Christa. She paused, and immediately her eyes dipped to her stomach. When she caught the confusion in Kenny’s eyes, Christa felt a sprite of panic and swiped the bottle. As she took the biggest swig of the three, she felt Kenny’s stare widen. And when Christa handed back the bottle, Kenny watched her carefully. He knew, and he knew that Christa knew that he knew. But no words spoken. And _that_ relieved Christa.

The attic remained silent for a few moments, aside from the final _thunk!_ of the hat-stand. Christa turned to Omid’s voice, one that bore news they all had been hoping for, and one that she knew would be a relief of his own after they escaped hell with a little girl:

“Got through!”

**— — — — — — — —**

They had waited for hours, but when the sun rose, Omid rested his hand on Christa’s shoulder and nodded to the farmland. And Christa, with a heavy heart, damn well almost snapped at him to give her another hour. Just _one_ more. Clementine would be in sight. They’d find her from the height of the building.

But the noises from the night prior were far from promising. The horde of walkers that stormed the Marsh House alone had irked Christa’s anxiety, especially since there were no bells that rung to drive them off. In the dead of night, when Omid rested, she could have sworn there was a scream of a gunshot. And her mind raced. And her fears festered.

So, instead of snapping at him, Christa followed Omid down the catwalk to the farmland, absolutely dull and hollow. If Omid gave attempts to put a smile on her face, she didn’t realize it, not as they meandered through the fields, avoiding the barest of groans that would crop up. Christa thought that, perhaps, killing off a few of the damned things would ease the bile that would crawl up her throat. However, her hesitance spoke otherwise, and so the couple avoided any danger entirely.

Christa glanced to the horizon, and all she could gather were rolling hills of yellow. To her side, Omid asked, softly, “Do you think…Lee is…?”

“Has to be,” Christa murmured. “He wasn’t in a good way when we went across that billboard.”

“He wasn’t in a good way since yesterday morning.”

“You know what I mean. He was on his last leg.”

Omid stumbled over some brush, and he hissed when _his_ working leg popped. Christa jerked forward, and he shook his head. “I’m fine. I’m fine. It was just my ankle popping, and I didn’t expect that.” She sighed as he continued onward, now trailing a step behind Christa. “And…Clementine? What about—”

Christa gasped, “I don’t know, Omid.” That was what scared her the most, not knowing. If Clementine was dead, the world had claimed her with Lee. If Clementine was alive, the world had claimed her without Lee—and the couple was childless, having not found her. Christa didn’t know what was worse. Having never said goodbye from the inevitable, or having never said goodbye from failing a man’s last wish.

Omid hung his head, equally as dismayed.

If only there was a chance. If only she could prove to Clementine that, no, she wouldn’t lose her like Lee had. That, yes, Lee was right, and the couple would care for the girl as he hoped. That… That…

Christa barely registered her boyfriend smacking into her shoulder.

There.

In the horizon. Across a truck and under a tree.

“I-Is that…? Omid, is that—?”

His head swiveled to their right, and his gasp was a strangled noise out of surprise. “That— Maybe?! Looks like a kid!”

“Is, is that… Is that, that Clementine?!”

Omid’s arms shot up, and his waves managed to hold a friendly franticness that Christa had never imagined possible. The small figure underneath the tree stood up. “C-CLEMENTINE!” Omid shouted, uncaring of the dead that would be irritated in the fields. “CLEMENTINE! IT’S US!”

And.

A hand rose with a soft wave.

“That’s her,” Christa hissed. “That’s her! I see the ballcap!”

Omid hurled himself forward and ignored Christa’s abrupt scream as he half-bolted, half-tumbled down the hill. She followed him, her legs carrying her through the dry grass as it flecked across her body. The figure down the way— _Clementine,_ it just had to be—started running forward as well. And when Christa could see her at the clearing, her Dodger’s cap peaked just above the brush, she overtook Omid and tore through the field.

“Clementine! Oh my god,” she near-wept, slowing her strides just in time for the girl to fall into her arms. “Clementine… Oh my god. Oh…my god.” Christa pulled away to see Clementine’s face and was able to catch the first of her tears. “Clementine…?”

“I-I-I…” Christa watched the slow realization dawn on her face, and the weight of everything fall on her. “L-Lee…”

Omid stumbled to their side and could only gasp, crushing the two within an embrace of his own. Christa said, “I-I know sweetie… I know…”

“B-But I… Lee…”

“It’s okay,” Omid whispered, cleaning off some of the dried blood from her cheek. “We know. It’s okay. We’re here now.”

“And neither of us are leaving,” Christa promised. A promise, which, she meant to keep.

**[6 Months After]**

Yet…she couldn’t. Not even that.

It was a big promise, of course, and Christa knew it. It was near impossible to promise whether or not she’d manage to keep her own life, and then add that she promised Omid’s? That wasn’t… That wasn’t possible.

Which was why she knew it was an empty one, in the end. And as she stared at his body, drug from the bathroom floor all the way to the ditch—over the nearest patch grass—, Christa could only think of how pointless swearing to promises like that were.

She stayed by Omid’s side as he watched the clouds with unfocused, dull eyes, and her fingers fidgeted around the devastation she blew into the side of his head—fashioned by a single bullet of a pistol. The same pistol that killed him. The same one that Clementine wasn’t holding.

Christa glared into the crater that replaced Omid’s ear. She didn’t care when that girl turned. She didn’t care that somebody would find the damn walker in the bathroom, and that her last expression was one of fear. She didn’t care that…that Clementine…

She wiped her eyes and slowly turned to the girl, who remained knelt at Omid’s feet, tears streaming down her cheeks. She blinked and met Christa’s eyes, only for the woman to turn away.

Christa _did_ care that Clementine was okay. Unharmed. Not a scratch on her head. But… Clementine, she wasn’t _Christa’s._ She was suddenly so alien, yet familiar. Christa knew that Clementine was still just a girl, and she wouldn’t have ever killed Omid. That she wouldn’t purposefully kill _anyone._ That wasn’t her. That wasn’t in her nature.

Although Christa knew—she could _feel_ it with every one of her growing baby’s kicks—that Omid’s child, and her child, would’ve _never_ left that pistol’s side. Their child wouldn’t have been so innocent and afraid of it. Never…

Christa rubbed her swollen belly, suddenly so very alone with two promises nailed over her shoulders. One from a dead man who gave everything for a little girl he’d just met. The other from a dead man who never got to meet their child.

And Christa, she didn’t know what to do. She didn’t know if she _could_ do anything without Omid. Those promises though, to be a guardian, and then a mother, those weighed heavy. They were big promises, and therefore impossible and empty.

She swallowed, and slowly, she got to her feet. Christa watched Clementine for a moment, taking in the hazel eyes that had lost another fraction of their glorious yellow, now a brittle, guilt-ridden shadow of what they once were.

Dammit. Christa was always stubborn.

Throat tight, she waved for Clementine to her side, and they trudged away, their stares constantly dipping back to Omid’s body.

She vowed to keep the two promises, even though she knew she very well couldn’t.

**[1 1/2 Months After]**

They were resting a lot for the past week. Clementine, who’s dress was growing short and tights thinning, needed it for the periods where all she could just dip the bill of her cap over her face and doze her stresses away. And for Christa, it was truly for the baby, and her rounded stomach that she swore couldn’t get any bigger.

Huddled by a tipped-over trailer, Clementine was slumped against the adjoining truck’s bed, and Christa sat along the metal that cupped the trailer’s wheel. She held her stomach with soft hands, her unfocused gaze set on the ground. As the days blurred together and the nights drug on, Christa knew her baby was…calmer. Relaxed. Christa waited, desperate for the thump against her palm that wasn’t her anxious heart.

But, no, the baby remained to be sti—

Christa breathed a relieved, hummed sigh.

A kick. Timid. Quiet. But a kick nonetheless.

She turned to her right once a groan slipped out, followed by the light _flump!_ of Clementine’s hat on the dirt. The girl grumbled as she blinked herself awake, and Christa supposed she’d jolted out of another dream.

And as Clementine slipped on the Dodger’s cap, elbowing aside her violet bag, Christa noticed… When did Clementine lose the soft, youthful cushion of her cheeks? It was only slight, but Christa knew the difference was there. There was a new angle at the bridge of her nose, which was further defined by her solemn frown, the one where she kept her eyes low and brows together.

That was another thing Christa noticed: the more the days crawled on, the deeper her brows stitched together. Not into a frown, necessarily. Something almost there, like a bitter, dispirited sorrow… Christa wondered for a moment if that was mirrored in her own face. Though, and she knew this, it wasn’t a mystery. Every time they passed reflections of themselves—a fogged window, the numerous puddles, or the occasional mirror—, Christa saw that it was.

With a graveled hum, she looked to the clouds above. “It’s getting colder…” Christa didn’t see it, and it wasn’t like she turned back to look at the girl, but she felt Clementine’s nod.

“Are we almost at that store?”

Christa grunted as she got to her feet, and she said, “We passed the billboard for it. We still have seven miles.”

Clementine followed suit and scooped up her backpack. “My tights are going to rip in half before we get there,” she grumbled.

“You know I need rest with the baby,” Christa snapped.

“I-I know, I was just saying!”

Christa watched Clementine from over her shoulder, the baby too heavy to turn around completely. The girl stopped in her tracks and chewed the inside of her cheek, then crossed her arms. Christa narrowed her eyes, though relented. They had been resting for the past few days, with food only a mere idea. She couldn’t blame her.

So, with a tight breath, Christa said, “Then come on and follow.”

**— — — — — — — —**

The store just _had_ to have been up an incline. Not a steep one, luckily, though by the time they both crossed a four-way intersection with a measly stop sign each, everything within them knew that they just climbed the last mile. So, instead of just the seven miles, it felt like ten already. Four hours of rest, a few hours by each split of roads they passed.

This intersection was the exception, as noted by Clementine when Christa pressed onward without a break in her stride. The girl watched Christa, who’d taken to holding her pregnant stomach gingerly for the past few hours. And Christa felt her uneasy stares, but she ignored them.

Christa didn’t want Clementine’s sympathy, or her pity. Nor the anxiety, or worry, or nerves…

Her baby was okay.

 _Omid’s_ baby was okay.

She swallowed as she continued to trudge on, her unfocused stare set on the road as her thoughts whirled. The baby was just…quiet. Resting. Sleeping. Christa didn’t know her dismal glare could harden as much as it did then. _Just one kick. Just one. Please, just one. Or two. Three._

Christa felt a spike of heat race up her spine. As her thoughts grew more and more fruitlessly feeble, a hunch blossomed. A feeling. Christa tightened her grip around her stomach—not too much, in case the baby was still al— Of course it was alive. It was… It was her and Omid’s only chance—

Clementine stumbled and gasped, and Christa immediately blitzed around. She caught herself on a pole and slammed her feet against the merging sign that had fallen (or taken) off. “Are you okay?”

“My foot…” Clementine grumbled, adjusting the slip-on that had slipped _off._ “And these stupid shoes…”

“It’s a good thing we’re sorting that out soon, then.”

Clementine nodded. “I hope there’s enough clothes.”

“I do too.”

With Clementine beside her, now focused on her feet in particular, Christa noticed the awkwardness where her dress and tights didn’t quite fit her legs, and the blue jacket was almost to the point it was choking her wrists. And with the damn shoes, Christa knew they were _sizes_ too small. It was a wonder, really, how Clementine managed to walk in them at all.

“…are you going to get clothes too?”

Christa’s nod was slow, though hesitant. Her throat tightened before she cleared it to answer: “Yes, I think so.”

Clementine’s hazel eyes slipped to Christa for a moment, then to her stomach and back again. She opened her mouth to ask a question—and Christa damn well knew what it was—, though it never came. Most definitely because Clementine damn well knew the answer. Clementine felt the hunch stir off of Christa, and the small inkling of hope as well.

So, instead, in a small whisper, Clementine says, “I… I’m sorry.”

Christa immediately felt her gut recoil, and her chest tremble. Her words were cold, and swift: “Don’t apologize. I’ve told you that enough already.”

“I-I know, but Om—”

“ _Clementine!”_

The girl flinched and kept quiet. Another strand of guilt plagued Christa, and she exhaled slowly as to calm her nerves. She caught sight of a roof over the tops of trees and said, “There it is.”

The clothing store was a local brand—judging from the outline of where letters _used_ to be, now stripped away and paint left behind. At the parking lot, they waited underneath a lamppost. With a shaken grip, Clementine pulled out her pistol. There were shadows moving within the store, sluggish and unnatural. The shadows were all undead.

And from looking at what was painted across the space of the original sign, it wasn’t hard to understand why: _WE’RE ALL BITTEN. STAY. THE FUCK. AWAY._

It was certainly a dramatic change from _Hubert’s Clothing Shoppe._

As Christa pulled out her own pistol, her old rifle long gone, she asked, “What do you think?”

“I don’t think there’s that many… It looks like all the windows are broken. Even the door,” Clementine observed.

“I wonder where the majority went if it’s just the stragglers behind, then,” Christa said with a nod. Their eyes swept to the dense tree-line. Clementine’s answer was only a gulp. “Better stay by the roads for a while longer. We don’t know how many are out there.”

“…right,” Clementine whispered softly, holding Christa’s wrist for a brief moment of comfort.

In these instances, when they were only alert and careful, was it when Christa was reminded that Clementine was also another chance. She was Lee’s last chance, and that… That she couldn’t fail either.

They moved together across the lot, and as it turned out, the windows weren’t smashed open but rather _blown apart._ As they passed a few trees—which were planted in the parking lot for the shade or aesthetics, Christa assumed—, the pair became very aware of the glass that littered the concrete, and the golf cart that had been driven into one of the obscured windows.

The closer they got, the more obvious it was of what took place; instead of the walkers inside escaping, they had been set free. And for what, Christa assumed they burned in hell for it by how a lake of blood stained the concrete and walls.

Clementine looked over her shoulder before slipping inside the building with a creak of the front door. Christa followed, navigating the ghastly scene as if it was mildly hazardous. As she supposed, blood, bodies and other horrors were not so well-hidden any longer. Clementine only gave a soft gasp at the sight of the golf cart, and a quick, uneasy glance before she pressed on. Christa could only hope she would be able to face the wicked realities of the world when it counted, and she was glad that, given Clementine’s intuition, wouldn’t be a worry.

Intuition, which, lead Clementine to creep along the war-torn aisles, listening patiently. “I think…” she whispered, “I hear three…”

“Only three?” Christa asked in kind.

“In this room,” Clementine said with a shrug.

Christa paused beside Clementine, and she nodded. “You might be right…” she murmured. The growls were minimal, and there weren’t a variety of tones that came from herds. As their eyes adjusted to the shadows towards the back of the store, they found that the majority of the clothes were there. With the moving outlines of the dead dragging themselves along, which wasn’t much of a surprise.

Because none of the walkers hadn’t noticed neither Clementine nor Christa, they were left to search the room with their eyes. Other than the shelves that were toppled over at the center, there were defined lanes that snaked to the back in a horseshoe, from the door to the changing stalls with curtains on the other end.

It was right then, or wait until the walkers disintegrated on the spot. And because _that_ was a downright impossibility, the pair strode carefully down the aisle in front of the door. Mid-way through, they froze, and two walkers staggered together. A large, heavy one with its muscles and skin sloughing off, and another one—emancipated—left to stumble after it with a rope tied to their ankles.

Christa felt her gut twist. Whatever monstrosity happened in that store was something that froze hell over. They readied their pistols in unison, and they raised their weapons to the walkers at the end of the aisle.

They dropped like flies. Clementine perked to the left at the sound of another familiar, now irritated, growl. She looked over her shoulder for permission, to which Christa slowly nodded. Clementine gulped and held her forearm for a moment, steadying its unease, before she crept forward. Christa followed close behind as the girl snaked to the outside wall, far away from the blind spot around the corner.

Sure enough, just as expected, the third walker stumbled from directly around the corner. Clementine put it down with ease, having given herself the distance. She turned to Christa, who gave a pursed smile and nodded in approval.

Clementine sighed, and muttered, “Um, I’ll go to the other side then and look for stuff.”

“Alright. I’ll start here then.”

For a moment, Clementine moved to slip the Glock in her backpack, though thought better. Even so, the hesitance was palpable. As she stalked down the back of the store, stepping around the tossed-over obstacles, Christa side-stepped the decade bodies and found herself looting through a pile of clothes. She pulled out an orange jacket first, one that would fit her once she got the flat of her stomach back. With her lips tightened, she slung it along her forearm and—

Her amber eyes widened. She carefully held the small baby clothes tied together by an old rubber band. She felt along the colorful ducks and clouds, and after a long, long moment, she unconsciously put them in the small bag over her shoulder.

Christa let out a shuddered breath, then eyed the next pile over to momentarily forget. Socks and underwear and bras… She glanced at Clementine who paused by the shoes, moving them with light kicks. Christa debated, then scooped a pair of socks and underwear, bras left untouched. As she heard Clementine step towards the back corner, Christa frowned and stared at the pile.

Should she…? Just in ca—

“ _FUCK!”_

Christa lurched, and her grip strangled the clothes in her hands. She heard the abrupt snarl of another walker, and saw Clementine’s shadow swing to its head. Christa frantically whirled through as many words as she could think, though none escaped her lips. Instead, she listened to the hearty crack of a skull.

A fire lit inside her. She stumbled forward, pushing off from the piles of clothes along the wall.

Christa strode haphazardly to Clementine, who was brushing off her jacket, mildly irritable. Something which directly clashed with the hammering of Christa’s chest. A small walker—one of a boy that was probably only a few years older than Clementine, when he died anyway—laid across the aisle with a deep, wet gash in its eye socket. Clementine plucked a shirt from a broken shelf and wiped the handle of her gun with it, then threw it back.

“I guess there was one more…” Clementine said.

“Seemed like it,” Christa murmured. “Did— Did it bite you or anything?”

Clementine shook her head. “No. It just startled me.” She stared at the walker for a long moment, taking in the ravaged shirt that revealed its mangled torso.

Christa sighed, her hand on her stomach. “At least…” she said gently, “that’s not you.”

With a slow nod, Clementine mumbled, “Yeah…”

Christa held up the socks, underwear and pairs of pants she almost forgot she was holding. “Here. I found these, and I think they should fit. At least one of the pants, anyway.”

Clementine took them and nodded. “Okay. I’ll go put them in the changing room.”

“I’ll find some shoes while you’re doing that. What size are those?”

“Five and a half,” Clementine answered immediately. Christa arched a brow. Clementine blinked. “I checked.”

Christa hummed. “I’m sure you did.”

She went back around to the most demolished aisle, shoes and boots and sandals scattered every which way. Christa held the corner of one of the shelves that stacked overtop another. With deep breaths, she began to prepare herself. Once she was down, Christa was going to be down for a while.

Before she sunk to her knees, however, Christa watched Clementine as the girl walked to the back wall, towards a large pile of shirts. She noticed how Clementine shied away from the bright colors, her eyes to the dark blues, reds, purples and greens—and the occasional attention to black or grey. Christa didn’t realize she was smiling before she noticed it in her reflection from a nearby broken mirror. It slowly dropped, though not before Christa thought about the excitement—if small—that must have stirred within the girl, having the big piles to choose from. Their luck, for the hour at least, was good.

Christa dropped the orange jacket and her bag before grunting, reaching her knees and then settling down completely. She began to go through the shoes, they dark ones the most appealing. The majority were Converse, and she found a few pairs she had to match together, all of varying sizes.

With a shoe in her hand, Christa paused with her eyes to her stomach. Her hand hovered, and she swallowed. Her baby…wouldn’t ever— No… Her baby would get the chance, but before that, all Christa asked for was one kick. It didn’t have to be two anymore, just one. Anything… Just so that there’d be a chance for—

Christa tore her attention to Clementine, who held a few purple shirts in her arms. “I think this is good…”

“You have multiple layers?” Christa asked.

“Yeah.”

Christa nodded. “Okay…” Clementine grabbed the shoes and the orange jacket as Christa heaved herself back up, her backpack slung over her shoulder. “Alright, now you go and start changing, I’ll be there.”

“Okay,” Clementine said. Once Clementine was around the corner, Christa lingered by the shoes before turning away from them. At the stalls, Clementine wrestled with her jacket. Once again she’d forgotten to take off her cap, which clogged the sleeves and hood. Christa shook her head lightly and assisted the girl, who swore once her head (and hat) popped out.

“What did I say about those words?” Christa murmured.

Clementine, sheepish, muttered, “Sorry…”

“I’ll hold on to this,” Christa said with the jacket raised, “just go in.” Clementine nodded with the Dodger’s cap in her hands, and once stepped into the stall, she jerked the curtains shut.

As Clementine changed, Christa waited. Her fingers drummed against her forearm before she flattened the blue jacket over her new orange one. And a—

A thought hit her, so suddenly and so violently, Christa was barely able to blink away the burn in her eyes. Many lifetimes ago, as everything felt with each passing day, she was a little girl running around a store with a bundle of clothes in her hands, her mother barely able to keep up. And while Christa didn’t have or need the money to pay for anything, nor had a home to go to, nor did Clementine take all of what she could carry, it was… This was normal again. Going through a store. Picking what they needed. Choosing what they wanted. It was all so normal…

Christa swallowed, and her eyes dropped to the swell of her stomach. She rubbed it, thoughts on the baby clothes that had been slipped in her bag—for just in case. _Just_ in case her baby… For _when_ her baby…

She rested her hand there for a minute before tearing it away. It still ached and throbbed, but Christa didn’t want to feel for anything anymore. Not when there was a chance— She hissed a breath and clenched her jaw. No… No, the baby was fine. The baby was going to be okay. A healthy girl or boy—it didn’t matter. Omid’s chance, the promise she gave, it needed to happen. It needed to.

“Okay…”

Christa, grateful to be ripped from her thoughts, turned to Clementine as she stepped through the changing curtain, and for a moment she was left baffled by how _clean_ the girl looked. All of the horrid, bloodied stains of her dress left their impression—the image of what normal came to be—, even with the jacket pulled over. Christa tilted her head in thought as Clementine studied herself in the one mirror.

Replacing her soft, yellow-striped sleeves were saturated purples, and instead of a similar white like the dress, Clementine wore a violet shirt overtop. Christa was glad that the grey pants were a good fit, and that the shirts seemed to suit her. But… She frowned and tensed her jaw. The dulled colors that replaced the cheerful actually suited Clementine, as naturally as a ravenous storm engulfing the sun.

The girl turned around and waited silently. Christa nodded, then asked, “Do your shoes feel like they fit?”

“A little big…” Clementine murmured, looking at them. “But that’s good, right?”

“Good, yes.”

“Okay. Then yeah, they fit.”

Christa paused, navigating through the sudden pile of emotion that sunk in her gut. She swallowed and only managed, “Alright then. Do you still want this jacket?”

Clementine shrugged, though she took the offered clothing nonetheless. “I can wear it a little longer.” She pulled it over her head with her cap in her hand, and once the jacket was stretched out, the cap was slipped back on with ease. Christa eyed it for a moment. That was the only thing of the little girl she first met, that hat. Out of all that had changed, the hat remained the same. Not even Clementine stayed as she was all those months ago…

She jerked and observed Clementine who was as detached as ever.

Again, the pile of emotion settled, though this time, Christa said, “They look nice on you. I don’t think dresses quite suit you anymore.”

Clementine nodded. “Yeah… I don’t think so either.” Speaking of, she picked up the old thing from the floor of the changing stall and looked at Christa. “Can I still keep it though?”

“Clementine, it’s covered in filth.”

“Well…yeah. Everything will be if it hasn’t already,” Clementine mumbled. “Just in case we need it or something.”

Christa saw the excuse. They _were_ in a clothing store, after all. Something that hadn’t yet been completely hollowed out. There were better options—cleaner and unworn, therefore capable of handling any stress. But because it was a sorry excuse, Christa sighed and gave in: “Alright.”

Almost immediately, Clementine pulled out her backpack to put the dress inside, and by the way she did it—slipping it into the front pocket—told Christa that she would’ve kept it anyway. Once satisfied, Clementine pulled the backpack’s straps over her shoulders and watched Christa.

The woman hummed and turned to the window where sunlight stretched far down the street, past the parking lot. The colors were gradually melding into darker tones. “Come on,” Christa said to Clementine, “we’ll continue down the road then.”

“But didn’t you want to rest?” Clementine asked quickly.

Christa held her stomach for a moment. Out of habit. Not because she wanted to… The ache hadn’t lessened a bit, though the jolts of pain didn’t return. She considered for a moment and avoided Clementine’s searching, anxious stare. There was the hunch again, slinking into her thoughts. But, no. No, no, no. Her baby was fine. She wasn’t due quite yet. Not for a few weeks, she knew. The baby was just big, and… The baby was the last promise she gave to Omid, so the baby was _fine._

“…Christa—”

“No!” Her snap startled them both, and Christa cleared her throat. “No… It’s… It’s okay. There’s that herd around here anyway, and we should be at a safe enough place.”

Clementine blinked. “For…what? Christa?”

Confusion fuddled those hazel eyes. After all, it had only been the few days before that Christa barked at her, explaining that her baby was due in— The baby was _still_ due in a few weeks’ time. It— It was. It _was…_ The hunch resurfaced, and she hated it. Christa also despised the hope that lingered, battling the hunch with no remorse.

She turned away and said, “We’ll find a safe place to sleep tonight, okay?”

“Okay…” Clementine echoed quietly. She lagged behind Christa by a step, and she watched the woman carefully. Unease suddenly plagued them both. Clementine swallowed the tense ball in her throat and whispered, “I-I’m—”

The front door was wrenched open to the point the glass would’ve bashed against the wall if it hadn’t been shattered already. “I told you already. Quit. Apologizing.”

“I-I… O-Okay…”

Christa nodded, and they stepped out into the sun-lit parking lot together back to the road. “We’ll find someplace safe tonight. We need the sleep…”

**— — — — — — — —**

Their shelter was a bundle of trees, and an abandoned campfire. Now, it was a fire of burning, hot colors. At the base of one of the pines, blood and tissue were left scattered.

A trowel thumped against the ground, and earth was dished away from the trunk of another tree. It was rhythmic—an orchestral solo that had blended the seams of Christa’s world for the better part of an hour.

But at the epicenter, she held the cold, grey flesh of a life born too early. Of life that never breathed the air around them. The baby didn’t come out kicking, nor screaming. As Christa had cried and snapped through her pain, Clementine had grown fearful. _Had it been hurt? Is my baby mute?!_ Those were some of her racing thoughts as she pushed. It didn’t make sense. Though, it wasn’t until after the stillborn had slipped out did the woman realize _why._ How much sense it actually made.

Christa rocked to herself, following the rhythm of Clementine’s trowel from across the camp. The baby never turned. It was lifeless, and Christa wondered if for something to have risen, it had to have fallen in the first place. Or maybe her baby was an angel and wouldn’t have ever let that monstrous hunger kill its mother from the inside-out. She rubbed the side of the baby’s head and cradled the body, wrapped within the white-stained dress.

The baby—and Omid _was_ right: a boy—looked… Christa’s brows tightened. Bodies never did look real to her—especially since the dead began to walk. But, to see one without a scratch, without any bruise, yet have the same waxy coloring? It was unnatural. And almost funny. It would’ve been more _normal_ if it had started to writhe and scratch and scream…

Christa paused. All she heard was the crackle of the youthful fire, and the buzz of her empty thoughts. The trowel was dropped with a clink of metal, and slow, unsure steps crunched to her.

Clementine waited by her side, silent. After a few moments, where Christa gazed upon her baby, the girl offered her hand. Christa tightened her jaw, then handed the stillborn over. Clementine paused, but when she realized Christa wasn’t going to move, she meandered numbly over to the grave. As the failed mother listened to Clementine bury the baby with the fresh dirt and tears, she held herself. The warmth of the fire, somehow, didn’t reach her.

Another better part of an hour. Another drop of a trowel and handful of steps.

Christa lifted her gaze to the sound of Clementine’s sniffles. The girl wiped her eyes with her sleeve as she pulled it back down to her wrist. Christa…didn’t think she’d seen Clementine cry before. Not like this. Not with a broken tone, nor the fractured gaze behind those eyes of corroded sun.

And it didn’t take long to understand: “I-I’m so sorry…”

Her apology startled the woman. Startled the woman to the point she wept, uncontrolled, into her hand, so sudden and so quick. “What did I say about _apologizing?!”_ Christa hissed. “Stop.”

Clementine cried on the spot, her words restrained as her guilt manifested something cruel behind her eyes. Christa opened her arm for her, though, the dismal weight in her chest uncaring of anything else. Clementine took it, curling against the woman with shaken sobs.

And the girl was warm, against her. Warm, and full of life from the spark in her eyes to the color of her skin.

For that night, Christa didn’t forget. She cherished it, how _alive_ Clementine was.

**[8 Months After]**

The mother’s comfort she spared that night never resurfaced since. As the days turned into weeks, and the weeks slogged into months, Clementine had learned to keep an arm’s length between them at every hour. And Christa, she forgot what the girl was like to hold, or embrace, or pat on the shoulder. Although, what she _did_ learn was how sharp of a tongue Clementine had, and how she could wield her charged words against the woman—which, knowing Christa, said enough on its own. And Christa _may_ have (inadvertently) taught her as such through their shared time on the road.

They meandered down a dirt path where treehouses dotted the many pines; both thought about caring families, and a friendly neighborhood. A collaborative tradition. Something so innocent and _fun._ The treehouses would have been outer-worldly if there were no memories of their lives from before—and that both, in their childhoods, had on. But that was a long, long ago. A lifetime. …then again, maybe it _was_ outer-worldly after all. Christa watched a torn, cartoonish pirate flag from one of the roofs, caught by the corner of her eye. Another childhood filled with adventures and fantasies, one where they’d slip into another, fantastical world… If only those children understood the ramifications of such thought. If they even survived for that long.

She didn’t bear Clementine a glance, not when she could still hear the girl’s steps behind her. And—

And the damn clicking. The same fucking clicking for the past twenty minutes.

Christa snapped, “Clementine, I _told_ you to hold the damn Glock while we’re going through here! And for God’s sake, zip up that backpack. I don’t want to hear it anymore!” Christa’s breathing was steady as she walked from the wrestling between a girl and her backpack’s zipper. Moments later, the wrestling grew quiet, then hurried steps rushed to maintain their set pace. Christa could feel Clementine’s irritation glare into her shoulder, though the woman only shrugged it off and kept going.

That is, until she heard low _grumbling._ Not undead, no, but certainly from an adolescent with a thing or two to say. Christa whirled around, promptly startling Clementine. “What was that?” she hissed quietly.

Clementine was quick to wipe her surprise with a scowl. “You _said_ to keep it out of the way so I didn’t get all trigger-happy or something.”

“And _after…_ I told you to take it out when we—”

“No,” Clementine snapped, “that was before!”

Christa could’ve strangled her right then and there. “Keep. Your mouth. In line.”

“ _Only_ if you keep your stories straight,” Clementine bit back. Christa watched Clementine right in the eyes; the hazel in them had changed. They weren’t bright as they once were, only as tired and as bitter as Christa felt. But _now,_ to her luck, there was a spark of retaliation. Christa wondered for a brief moment if either of the girl’s parents were feisty—or if they would’ve been able to handle this to begin with.

She turned away. “And _don’t_ aim that thing at me.”

“I wasn’t aiming it at you.” Clementine scoffed, and added with a sour note, “I wasn’t aiming at _anything,_ actually.”

“If it’s in your hands, it’s aiming at _something,_ Clementine,” Christa retorted.

“Okay! It’s not aiming at anything _moving—_ unless you’re going to tell me the ground moves too.”

Christa exhaled sharply. “Well, it _does._ We’re just too small to see it.”

“No it’s _not._ An elephant’s bigger than me, but if I was on top of it, I can still see it move.”

“The elephant is too small to see the ground move too, Clementine!” Christa hissed. “Now quit arguing. I don’t want to hear it.” As they walked, Clementine’s indignation was deafening. Christa breathed in slowly, exhaled, then stopped and turned back around. “What is it now? Spit it out.”

Clementine blinked, both annoyed and puzzled. “I didn’t…say anything.”

“I _know._ But you want to. I can feel it.”

Irritated, Clementine eyed her, then grumbled, “I know how to use a gun…”

“We’ve been over this—”

“Lee taught me! And I practiced a bunch of times!”

Christa folded her arms. “We’ve been over this,” she repeated. “Your problem isn’t whether or not you _can,_ it’s about whether or not you _do.”_

“I use it!” Clementine argued. “I shot that one walker that almost got to our last camp!”

“After having to fish it out of your bag! After I explicitly told you to _keep it ready!”_

Clementine held herself, stewing with the Glock firm in her hand, the trigger untouched. “I knew where it was…”

With a sharp exhale, Christa jerked her chin back to the direction they were heading, ushering the girl to follow her. As they continued, she said, “It doesn’t matter. If it’s not by your side, you lose time. I don’t care about a walker, Clementine. A walker is slow and loud. That’s an easy target. I’m talking about people. People still have their heads, and they still can run. Keep that gun _on_ you at all times. People are the danger, not the damn walkers.” Christa listened for a response, and she got nothing. Only the sneakers crunching against the dirt behind her. “Clementine?! Do you understand that?!” she snapped, wrenching her eyes over her shoulder.

Clementine pointed her eyes to the ground, and the bill of the Dodger’s cap shielded her expression from Christa with its shadow. But Christa heard her cracked, grueling tone—one of a viper: “I know that.” Her jaw tensed as Christa set her stare back forward, watching the tree-line for any danger; there were a few groans, though nothing else. “I don’t need you to tell me.”

Yet again, they halted—this time with the force of an anvil. Christa turned half a step and arched her brow. “Then why do you still treat that thing like you’re afraid of it? It’s a gun. You need it to survive—”

“I-I know it’s just a gun!” Clementine barked, something that startled them both. “It’s—” She hissed and glared at the pistol. “It’s just a stupid piece of metal. I know that.”

“Then—”

“I know I caused his death, Christa!” Clementine finally lifted her eyes, and in them, Christa saw a spark of something. Something newborn that had been stewing within that hazel. It brought color in her glare, but not the gentle sun Christa dearly missed. No. While it blinked away as Clementine’s anger fractured itself, Christa saw the intensity nonetheless. “I… I know I did. I get it.”

Christa swallowed. “Clementine…” The girl didn’t meet her eyes. The bill of her cap’s shadow shielded Clementine once again. “I… I know you didn’t m-mean for that to happen, but it did. And now, there will be times when you have to shoot—”

“Like you did with that girl?”

The woman froze, and a spike of iced heat flashed up her spine. “I…” Christa blinked, watching Clementine with a careful eye. “Is… Is that—”

“No.”

“Clementine,” Christa murmured, her sudden guilt rising. The girl she shot, Christa remembered her pleas after she took Omid’s life. How uncertain she was. How Omid was probably the only person she’d hurt—never mind _killed._ Christa’s jaw hardened, and she said, “I don’t expect you to understand. I’m telling you this now though, that you will be faced…with…”

Her words fizzled out of existence as hazel eyes slid to her own. Even before Clementine spoke, Christa knew that the weight of her words would be devastating: “No. You don’t understand. That girl is your only one, isn’t she?”

Christa went tense as Clementine’s breath wavered. And what she uttered through a broken whisper was catastrophic, and Christa couldn’t fathom any of it.

“I-I killed Lee… A-And the man on the radio too…”

She watched as the girl sunk to her knees, the Glock toppling to the ground as Clementine held her right arm. “Every time I think about it, this b-bone in my arm hurts. Every time I hold that gun, it…” Clementine whimpered, her eyes on the pistol. “It hurts. So much… I-I didn’t mean for Omid to die…but I meant to kill that man. H-He was going to kill Lee, so I shot him. Right in the head. And— And it was so… _easy…”_

Christa mirrored her, her hand hovering, unknowing of how to reach Clementine. She forgot how it was like to hold the girl. Embrace the girl. Pat her on her shoulder…

Clementine slipped off her Dodger’s cap, and as she ran her fingers along the speckles and lines of aged blood, Christa’s heart sunk. “And… And Lee… I m-meant for him to die too, b-but— But _only_ because he asked me to!” The cap crumpled in her fists as tears leaked onto its cloth. “H-He told me to shoot him, because he— He didn’t want to become one of _them._ S-So I did. I… I killed Lee. H-He’s dead because of _me.”_

“C-Clementine…” Christa whispered, hoarse. She still didn’t know how to reach for the girl. She weight of her words kept them apart.

Those shattered, brittle, hazel eyes met hers, and Christa’s throat tightened. Clementine tucked herself away from Christa’s hand, for she too had forgotten what it was like to be held, or embraced, or Christa’s pat on her shoulder.

“I-I’m not afraid of the gun. I’m scared of what I would do if I had it for too long… So— So don’t tell me how to use it, because I know.”

**— — — — — — — —**

The stars weren’t awake that night, masked behind the clouds. Christa was left in the dark, laid beside the burning, dim embers of their dying fire. It wasn’t often she slept to begin with, but that night, she was far from tired. Drained, but very much alert.

Noises in the trees kept her eyes out, and her ears strained. No walkers, thankfully, but a handful of birds flying and rats scurrying. Yet, those weren’t the noises Christa listened to. Those noises blurred together.

She was listening to Clementine’s restless sleep. The nightmares that jerked the girl, and the terrors that forced mumbles to stir. For the first night in the better part of a year, Christa actually paid any attention. And her chest ached, for she knew exactly what they were. And her eyes burned, for she knew Omid had always been the one to comfort her. He always knew how to rub her shoulder, just enough to keep her dozing but not wrench herself awake. That had been a mistake Christa made for the first few times.

Omid would know what to say now. Or in the morning. Or the few hours ago when they remained on their knees, silent. He wouldn’t have been the comedian, of course, but rather the gentle pacifier.

Christa felt the flat of her stomach with a sob caught at the base of her throat. Omid would know… Omid knew what to do with Clementine. Omid _knew_ Clementine. She frowned with tight lips. Did he know Clementine fully? How… How the little girl Lee gave his life to had died with the man? Or rather, how the little girl died before Lee, a bullet lodged into the radio man’s head?

Christa didn’t know.

The hand on her stomach curled to a fist, and she breathed unsure into the night. She didn’t know, and she wasn’t going to sleep any time soon. And by the morning, Christa still wouldn’t know, and so would come another long stretch of nothing but walking, and starving, and surviving.

**[5 Months After]**

As they walked, starved and survived on and on up north, the months became bitter and cold. And slowly, so too the conversations between them. Drifting apart, day by day, one less long night of talking week by week.

All until now, where the sky was dark from behind thundering clouds, the two sat on either end of a log as the downpour soaked their bones. Christa stared into the weak fire where their excuse for a meal—whatever a lunch, dinner, and an upcoming breakfast would be called—“cooked”. There was barely any smoke. The flames were dull, and the crackles of fire were feeble.

From beside Christa, who wore her orange jacket close to her chest, she heard Clementine plead, “Christa… Talk to me.”

It had been hours since she’d done so, talk to the girl. Right after the rabbit was caught, skinned and gutted, then put over the fire. That was the last one. And before, when she roused the girl awake to walk another few miles.

Christa barely turned to her. She couldn’t see her. She could no longer bear witness the absence of that sun, the same that… That died with Lee, and that she hoped her stillborn would’ve held. Fuck, that baby would’ve fixed everything. After he was born, healthy, Clementine would’ve helped care for him, and together, they’d raise the boy. And, and Christa…would’ve been the mother she always hoped to be.

She hissed and pulled herself forward, dragging a long stick with her. “This will never work,” she murmured. “Look at this.” Christa pointed to the excuse for a meal. “It’s pathetic.” She began to tend the fire. “The wood’s too wet to burn… There’s more smoke than flame. At this rate, we’ll be eating this for _breakfast.”_

Clementine shifted on the log, and she asked, “What else…can we do?”

“Find something that’ll burn, maybe,” Christa answered, her voice graveled with exhaustion. “I dunno. It won’t be easy in the dark and in the rain…” She frowned, and she shook her head. “You should be doing this, not me.” The fire wasn’t burning any more than with her efforts. Christa sighed, and she stood up. Clementine watched her, huddled and shivering with fat droplets of the rain falling from the bill of her cap. “Tending a fire so you can cook and stay warm… It’s something you have to be able to do, Clementine. Otherwise…”

Christa swallowed, and the words died in her mouth. She crouched on the other side of the fire, prodding the stick in a vain attempt to encourage the flames.

“Omid said that—”

“I _know_ what Omid said,” Christa growled, her glare hardening from over the fire. Clementine faltered, and she turned away, leaving Christa’s expression to crack and soften with her ever-growing guilt. That was another thing, too. Within the past month, Clementine barely slipped a word of Omid, and her apologies went extinct. Verbally, anyway. Every so often, Christa would catch her sorrowful eyes, though she’d turn away from the girl. It was simply too much to bear. Without that sun, but with that burning shame, and remorse, it wasn’t something Christa could ever go asleep to.

Clementine curled further into herself. “I’m freezing.”

“You think this is bad?” Christa sighed, and she muttered, “Wait until we get into Wellington, _then—”_ she gave a bitter chuckle— “talk to me about cold… If we make it. We still have a couple hard months ahead of us.” Christa stood, walked around the fire, then knelt for the last angle she could find. “This rain will turn to sleet. Then ice. Then snow… It won’t be easy.”

Clementine didn’t respond. Christa watched her as the girl stared into the fire. Just as before, Clementine hardened her solemn gaze; she was growing narrower, and it defined her cheeks and jaw. The jeans, too, weren’t so long now, and her shoes were far more comfortable.

Christa frowned. “It will be safer up there… We need to keep heading north.” Wellington was the only thing, now. The only goal. A second baby that would fix everything. Up there, with all their stresses gone, Christa could watch Clementine be a kid again, and…with a quiet hope, she wouldn’t see the past years of turmoil in those eyes.

“I… I miss Lee…”

Amber eyes drifted to the girl, and Christa felt another fracture of her chest—deep in her heart. “I’m…sure you do,” she said softly. Christa stared into the fire for a moment, and with a surge of frustration, she tossed the stick in and muttered, “I’m gonna look for more wood. You just…keep the fire lit.”

And she walked into the woods, leaving Clementine to tend to the fire, as Christa had told her she should.

In the rain, between the trees, it was overwhelmingly peaceful. Away from Clementine, and that damn fire, and the damn rabbit. Christa scooped a few twigs from the base of a pine, though—as expected—, they were a soggy mess. A few of them went limp in her hands, and Christa hissed before throwing them to the ground. Again and again and again, the wood she came across—every fucking scrap—was wet.

“God damn it,” she swore. Christa was hungry, and tired, and cold. And—

Soft leaves squelched all around her, and Christa whirled her attention over her shoulder. Her hands raised, and she backed away from the three men and their guns. “I-I… I don’t mean trouble,” she murmured.

“Sounds like you’re in some,” a man in a hood growled. “What you goin’ and cursing God for?”

She swallowed, then froze. Another few steps behind her, just one pair, so she didn’t turn to look. “I… I don’t want trouble,” she repeated.

“You in a group?” a snarl curled from another one of the men. He wore a red jacket, and his piercing eyes shot through her.

“No,” she said quickly. _Oh God. Oh God, please. Please not Clementine._ “I haven’t been in a group for years.”

“Really?!” the man in the red jacket snapped.

Another man, with trimmed dreadlocks, shook his head. “Impossible. Nobody could do that nowadays, and you don’t have anything on you—”

“I have a small camp just over! By myself!” she urged. The men began to crowd her, their glares unmoving.

“No. Not. Possible. Where is it then?”

Christa swallowed. _Not Clementine. God please, please I don’t want her…_ “It’s just… I-It’s just over there.” _I-I don’t want her killed. Not Clementine. Not Clementine._

The man in the red jacket gave a strangled laugh, and with a raised voice, he snarled, “Jesus, are you fucking kidding me?! Tell us the truth so you don’t get hurt!”

“So…” a voice came from behind, and finally she turned to him. His blue eyes narrowed, and he muttered, unconvinced, “You’re out here, all alone, in the middle of nowhere. Come on, that isn’t believable. So tell us the truth, and nobody will get hurt.”

“I’m— I’m not with anybody,” she pled. “I’m by myself!”

“You’re obviously with someone! Where’s your group?” the man in the hood said, his pistol still pointed right at her—to her neck.

“Don’t fuckin’ lie to us!” the man in the red jacket yelled.

As they continued to snap and sneer at her, her attention whirled to all directions.

“Who do you think you’re fooling?”

_Clementine._

“Give us the truth, or you’ll get hurt!”

_Clementine, please. I—_

“Are you fucking with me? Where’s the rest of your group?!”

 _I only care for her, right now. I can’t— Don’t…_ “I-I’m by myself!” The thunder rolled with their violent tones, and her hands trembled. _Don’t have her killed because of me. Please. Please…_

“Bullshit!”

“She’s lyin’!”

“Cut the shit, lady!” The man in the hood jerked his pistol.

She shook her head, eyes wide. “I-It’s just me!”

The storm continued to bellow, and the rain began to cut into her cheeks. The man with the dreadlocks growled under his breath, and he stepped forward in a lurch, his own Glock whipped out. “Come on, guys! She’s not saying!”

“You expect us to believe you’re out here all alone?!” the man behind her snapped, his voice the calmest despite _everything._ “A—”

She heard the rock before she barely saw it smack dead center into the blond man’s face. With wide eyes, he clutched his nose and snarled, his words now the most violent of all of the men, “HEY!”

All eyes were jerked to the trees, where—

_God. No! NO!_

Clementine, her features pulled into a panicked defiance. “CHRISTA!” she screamed. “RUN!” And at the bellow of thunder and the blond, Clementine staggered backwards, though her hazel eyes—leeched of all sunlight—still urged Christa to _run._

_No, Clementine! Please! Please, no!_

Though her thoughts screamed her writhing anxiety, Christa heeded her warning. She bolted in the other direction before the men broke from their stupor. Once she did, however, the man in the hood jerked his arm and fired.

And Christa.

She screamed and tumbled to the ground. Her world was a haze of shadows and spliced echoes of her pierced cry. The men’s words were muffled through the ground of her left ear: “Well, come _on!_ Follow him and the fucking girl! He’s not gonna—”

“But what about—?”

“I just shot her! She’s fucking dead, either way, now _go!”_

Christa closed her eyes as they trampled after Clementine in that sodden night, and her thoughts stirred and sloshed together as one writhing, confused mass. When she opened her eyes, Christa was already stumbling through the trees. Her spoken consciousness were slogged and blurred together, syllables disjointed and mismatched. Words took on parts of one another, and she couldn’t tell the difference between which ones were intelligible, and which ones were just noises.

She crumbled to the ground many times. After each and every time, when Christa opened her eyes, she was already several trees away. Her world was made of several realities swaying and crossing each other, and she couldn’t decipher what was a tree, and what was air. Christa slammed into several trunks, and bushes, and rocks and logs and saplings…

It was never ending. Christa wandered without her mind, and every now and again, she’d cry out a name that was never butchered by her chaotic mass of panic:

_Clementine._

**— — — — — — — —**

The constant stream of rushing water stirred Christa from her nauseating slumber. She croaked and staggered to her hands and knees before crumpling back over. Pain spliced her shoulder, and Christa hissed as her hand clamped over it.

“Shit… _Shit…”_ she breathed. Christa watched her shoulder as she peeled back the crusted cotton of her shirt, stained with red. The wound was shallow, and the only fresh blood was from within the cracks of her scab. She swallowed, then immediately winced. Her ear on the same side as her bullet-torn shoulder throbbed. Christa cupped it gingerly.

Realization plummeted an anvil into her stomach. Christa could only hear the rushing water through her _left._ In her right? Only a distant ring. The ghost of a gunfire that narrowly missed her, just _barely_ able to catch skin.

And that wasn’t all. She only heard the nature around her. Just the water. Just the breeze amongst the woods…

Her eyes searched as her thoughts began to work through her daze. None of the men were to be found, nor bodies, nor—

Christa’s eyes widened, and she jolted to her feet in a panic. “Clementine?!” she gasped. “Clementine?!” Christa blitzed around for anything— _anything_ at all. “No… No, no, no…”

She scampered unevenly towards the trees, sliding along the rocks until she slammed against dry bark. As Christa sunk further against into a tall pine, she scoured the forest. “Fuck, _no,”_ she sobbed, broken. She couldn’t have been far from her. They couldn’t have been separated by that much. “Clem… Clem, please…”

A gunshot in the distance sent Christa to the ground in agony, cupping her right ear. She bit the knuckles of her trembling, left hand as blood leaked into the other. Bile began to fester up her throat from the pain of her ear alone—which travelled in splitting aches across her skull. Tearfully, she kept searching for the horizon, though nothing came of it. Nobody. Not a single girl.

“Clementine…” Christa whimpered, broken. In that moment, as she wrenched herself to her feet, Christa knew she needed Clementine back. And as she continued to tumble through the woods, naked of any weapons or supplies or _anything_ other than the clothes on her back, she knew she just wanted her daughter—

With a shattered sob, Christa tumbled onto another tree. “C-Clementine…”

A daughter. Christa grappled the bark and hissed, only to whimper with the pang of her heart. Clementine was a daughter, wasn’t she? An adopted one, sure, but nothing had changed since she accepted Lee’s final wish.

And—

And she failed him.

“Clementine.” Her voice was hoarse, and she trudged towards a shed in the distance, one made of brick. Secure. Christa, unfeeling of the red that dripped onto her shoulder from her ear, snaked along the edge around boxes and looked around the corner. No door, but there was—

A bag. Not Clementine’s, but it once was a bright orange. She ducked to it and fished around with a brief, relieved breath. A camping knife. An empty canister of pepper spray. A rotten apple. Christa snarled, “ _Damn_ it!” and snatched the knife. A bag from _before._ She doubted the knife had any chance of being used for walkers.

Christa remained crouched beside the bag and flipped it open. It was completely untouched without a single scratch. She ran a finger along the flat of the blade, imagining a little girl or boy excited to go on their first camping trip, only to have run from their turned family, drop the bag and… Well.

She cried into her hand and pocketed the knife. It wouldn’t be any use for fighting, though for food, like the game she and Clementine would catch, and… And…

Christa rose and continued to slink along the wall, searching for the door. The shed was of modest size, and surely there’d be supplies for when she found Clementine, and they—

“Nick! You better get your ass moving! Rebecca’s going to be fuckin’ pissed if you don’t get some of those bottles!”

Christa froze, caught sight of two men in the woods—one with a military-esque uniform, and the other with a ballcap—before she pulled herself back against the wall, out of sight. The door was along the other wall, and she heard the crunch of leaves as the man, Nick, continued to trudge through. “Rebecca’s always pissed off!” Nick hollered back, his voice _much_ closer than Christa wanted. “I’ll be a minute, I swear!”

She heard him step inside and rummage through glass. Christa’s heart pounded. The men. They were from the same group, weren’t they? And Clementine—

If Clementine was still wandering the woods as she was, Christa needed to find her. She would be by the river, wouldn’t she?! And those men, Christa had to beat them to it before Clementine was stolen away.

“Any second now, Nick!” she heard the other man snap in the distance.

“I said that I’ll be a minute!” snarled the other man’s voice from inside.

It was now or never. Christa staggered forward, back the way she came. However, she made sure to keep the shed in between the men’s line of sight, and continued to weave between the trees. “Clementine… Oh god…” Christa whispered, the rushing water leaking back into her ears.

At the river, she couldn’t manage to find any scrap of her voice. And so, Christa sunk her knees into the mud, holding her face as her chest crackled in a warped, devastating pain.

**— — — — — — — —**

She had stayed by the riverbank for a week. Searching for the girl. Calling for the girl. Holding back her tears after everything. But…there was no trace. It was like the world had swallowed Clementine whole, condemning Christa to a fruitless odyssey.

By the seventh night, where Christa only wept, she got to her feet and moved forward. Down the roads. Across a great bridge. Past a huge log cabin—a resort, of some type. Following the pathways to Wellington, and the footprints left behind as snow began to settle.

And when she saw those great gates, Christa found that she was far from relieved. She had thought of this moment many a time. Because, at very single moment where she _hoped_ for this chance, Christa was with a girl by her side. With or without her unborn child and Omid.

It was fate, then, once raiders had overtaken the sanctuary barely half a year afterwards, shunting Christa to the woods—very much alone. She knew it was a cruel joke. The world was laughing in her face, taunting her for what she lost. Christa didn’t care when Wellington fell, but instead kept to the shadows as people formed groups. She ignored the efforts to reform and just left.

A lone wanderer on a depraved, ever-lasting odyssey.

**[3 Years After]**

The last sliver of the warm, mellow sunlight hit the line of asphalt down the neighborhood. Christa watched the sun for a long while, following the oranges and purples as they sunk into the horizon. And when it finally fell, slowly plunging the cityscape into hues of violets and blues, she detached herself from the tree she rested against.

A city. A _big_ one, at that.

Christa never expected to wind herself on sets of wide, black roads alongside the shadows of sturdy buildings again. Brick. Concrete. Glass. Columns. She looked at the skyscrapers, and what windows were still left. Even from the few miles off, Christa saw _light—_ actual, generated, powered _light._ At first it was strange. A fairy tale. A fantasy. That is, until it hit her that she’d been watching the glow of lanterns and lightbulbs. Not a fantasy, but a luxury. She still didn’t go near the heart of the city. The outskirts, Christa figured, were enough.

So back into the brush she went, following the trail that had been born within the years of hell, the many, many footprints of wandering people stamping away the grass as they evaded walkers. Christa blended into the shadows with only one pop of color off her back: a pale tiger-orange sweater, which smoldered against the greys and blacks of her vest, jeans and boots.

Away from the view of the city, Christa kept her eyes out for…anything, really. A shed. A backpack. A mansion. A gas station. Anything that had food, or water…or anything, really. Her pistol was just about the only thing of value, and even then the metal was worn, and there were edges where rust began to collect. Nothing that was an immediate worry.

 _“Could use a nice bed… I think you’ve gotten used to benches and trees, Christa.”_ She hummed a laugh and eyed the space to her right.

Omid walked alongside her. His steps didn’t crunch along the leaves as hers did, nor did he cast a proportional shadow, but Omid was breathing, and smiling, and cheerful. He had his hands stuffed in his hoodie. _“What?”_ he chuckled. _“You know I’m right. The last good bed was the one we found at the hotel. Did a lot of scavenging before we got distracted, huh?”_

_“Eugh.”_

The adults laughed as Clementine materialized behind them, her face pulled into a disgusted grimace. She folded her arms across the flat of her purple shirt and grumbled, _“Quit being gross adults. I don’t want to hear about the gross kissing stuff.”_

“Oh, I’m sorry, Clementine,” Christa murmured. “He started it.”

_“I think I would’ve been very disappointed if it was only the ‘gross kissing stuff.’”_

“Omid!” Christa hissed. “We went through this. Gross bodily stuff—”

Clementine _bleched!_ and said, _“I hate that word too.”_

“—is to be taken seriously until she can handle the worst of your comedy,” she added slyly.

Clementine scowled. _“Gross.”_

_“Oh, cheer up, Clementine. We have to help Christa get some food. You know how she gets…”_

A smile cracked, and Clementine chuckled. _“…yeah.”_

Omid patted his stomach and said, _“Well, I’m glad I died with a full tank—”_ Christa’s light grin fell, and she worked her jaw— _“so no ghost-food hunting needed.”_

_“Lucky for you—"_

“Stop it,” Christa breathed. “I don’t…”

On either side of Christa, Omid and Clementine flanked, their eyes pitiful and expressions depressively sheepish. _“I’m sorry. You know I don’t mean it,”_ Omid murmured. _“We’re just…your coping mechanism, right? We’re both not here. We’re both de--- Sorry. But, we’re also still with you, right?”_ Christa glared at the lengthy puddle she overstepped, her reflection the only one. Although, as she glanced at Clementine and Omid, she really wasn’t alone, was she?

“I…guess. Just quit with those jokes. I don’t want to think about it.” Thinking about it would remind her just how pathetic it was to replace the only two people in the world she lost that truly matter—with the last pieces of her sanity, no less. It was a lot like taking dolls that sort of, kind of resembled the ones you really wanted, and acting them out with your own tea party. Very pitiful indeed.

 _“No it’s not,”_ Clementine chimed in. She watched Christa, and even though she looked like the girl that had lost her everything from a bullet shot by her hand, the sun was bright in her eyes. _“When I played in my treehouse, that’s what I did. All the kids in my neighborhood were jerks.”_

 _“That’s right. Which is why I should’ve been there,”_ Omid chortled. _“With a little princess dress and everything.”_

Christa shook her head with a gentle smile. “You two are something…” _Were,_ but that wasn’t a point she’d verbally correct. Never.

She crossed a small, sudden creek and paused, then looked back. Not a creek, per se, but a ditch. Christa stared at the graffitied pipe that stuck out of the small decline she hopped down. _“Probably some good buildings around here, you think?”_ Omid asked.

“I hope so…”

 _“I think you should go right,”_ Omid said.

_“Or go left.”_

Omid and Clementine playfully glared at one another. Then, seemingly unprompted, began to play rock-paper-scissors. There were five rounds, and Christa watched with mild amusement.

_“Shit.”_

Omid’s gleeful smile was wide, and he said, _“Right it is.”_

“And no swearing, Clementine,” Christa muttered under her breath.

_“Omid gave me permission last time, remember?”_

Christa rolled her eyes and turned right. She recalled the few nights prior. An all too lonely few hours in a garage. Omid and Clementine playing chess. Christa moved the pieces, of course, since… Well, Omid said that he needed to protect his heavenly hands, and Clementine just wanted the entertainment of Christa moving the pieces around as Omid called out the squares in rapid succession. And then realizing that he was cheating. And… Well, Clementine _lost,_ but she was granted that permission to rightfully swear in the end.

She slowed her pace with a sigh. There were many stories like that, too many to count. Christa didn’t know whether or not that it was a good thing.

With a sudden jerk to halt, Christa stared through the trees. _“That looks promising…”_ Omid murmured.

A long shed out in a clearing. Sturdy with boarded windows and door. Christa knew it was a sign of _something._ Whether it be a walker or two were locked inside, or that there was something valuable in there, she didn’t know. One way to find out, as she supposed. As Christa moved forward, both Omid and Clementine slunk back into the shadows. With her Glock ready at her hip, she kept her breaths steady and steps careful.

She slinked into the clearing, gaze wavering from either side as she crossed towards the shed. _Nothing so far…_ Christa hoped that the shed had anything of use and not a walker, since it had the boarded windows and door and all. A secured shelter did mean resources, right—?

The door swung open and Christa froze precariously on the spot, eyes wide and heart wrenched apart. A woman stood in the doorway in mild surprise herself. For a few moments, they blinked at one another. The woman was—even in the apocalypse—someone to remember by appearance alone. For one, she wore a jean jacket with several patches along the arms, and military attire from the waist down. From what Christa saw, her shaved head highlighted a prominent scar running across the center of her temple.

Christa felt very much like a deer caught in headlights, and could only watch as the woman ducked around the doorframe, conversing with a few muffled voices before she turned back to Christa again. “It’s alright!” she said. “Not gonna hurt you or anything.”

Eyes narrowed. “I’ve heard that before…”

“Yeah. Suppose so. Got a lot of scars from liars—and that was before dead fuckers started walking around,” the woman said sociably. She walked towards Christa to the center of the clearing, leaving the boarded door to shut behind her. “Name’s Ava,” she greeted. “Haven’t seen you around here.”

“I’m passing by,” Christa said. After a few moments (and an encouraging thumbs-up from an Omid in the trees, having just appeared), she added, “Christa.” (Omid sighed dramatically and waved his hands for her to _try_ harder.) “That’s, uh, quite the little shelter.”

“Isn’t it?” Ava laughed, turning around to it proudly with her hands on her hips. “It isn’t really ours, but I’d be damned if I didn’t admit how chucked I’m about the use I’ve gotten out of it. Had several close calls by ducking in there. Met some people… Right now we’re just resting.”

Christa frowned curiously. “…and who…would ‘we’ be?”

Ava grinned, once again proud, and held out her arm. Christa’s gaze followed the outline of a circular symbol branded on her forearm. “New Frontier… Growin’ settlement. We’re running trades and supplies right now. Well, they are. I’m a scout when I’m not with the settlement itself. Been moving around a lot as of late. Expanding and such. A lot in the city, actually.”

“Really?” Christa hummed.

The woman nodded. “Sure thing. I was with them since we were small, so it’s been an honor watching it grow…” Ava’s words trailed off, and for a moment, she thought, then said, “Well, seen things of course with security…and… Anyway—” she shook her head— “enough about me. What are you lookin’ for? You don’t seem to be the type to go with a group.”

Christa’s smile was quiet, though she nodded. “Yeah. How’d you guess?”

Ava shrugged. “Remind me of a girl, I suppose…” she answered, and Christa caught the subtle gloom that rounded her words. “She’s not dead,” Ava said quickly, answering Christa’s growing question. “She’s just… Well, wasn’t someone who wanted to go with a group.”

“It’s definitely not for everyone.”

“No, it’s not,” Ava agreed, solemn. “Though, it certainly helps from time to time, not having to rely all on yourself?” She glanced behind her, to the shed. “Speaking of, need some supplies? We’d be willing to hand some over. Actually have had a surplus of things, lately.”

Christa paused, then asked, “Food? Water? That’s about all I need… Maybe ammo too, though—”

“Have all of that,” Ava said with a wave. “Don’t worry about it. We’ve got a lot, trust me. And—”

Ava frowned as her eyes flickered past Christa, and she stepped around her. Christa turned with the same, near-frantic energy to find two girls trudging through the trees, the sun glinting off of the glasses of one of the girls. And the other… Christa was left stricken as Ava yelled, “What happened to you two?! I thought you left with the last of the supplies to that family’s house!”

The other girl held her jaw, mouth open and pouring blood. All of the side of her face had swollen with a nasty, murky purple. From her nose drained another river of blood, though Christa assumed that wasn’t all by the dark, mass that leaked within the red,

“We did!” the girl with the glasses said. “But…on the way, we got turned around by that fork, and we got a-attacked.”

“Can Janet even talk?!”

“Sh-She can’t even close her mouth,” the girl whimpered as Janet shook her head, closing the one sky blue eye that hadn’t swelled. “I-It was that— That drunk people’ve been talking about. The one that’s been terrorizing the other runners.”

Ava’s face fell from abruptly worried to undeniably distraught. Her lips tightened as she continued to stare at Janet, and she whispered, “She broke your jaw… What did she do, hit you with the end of that shotgun?”

Janet nodded slowly, sniffling with her new set of tears.

“Fuck…” Ava pulled her hand over her mouth and breathed into it, and by the strain in her voice, Christa knew it was the drunk’s name, and a line along, _“What in God’s name did you do?”_

She swallowed, now displaced between the scout and the runners. “Alright…” Ava murmured, hoarse. “Go and get inside… We still have a lot of the supplies Dr. Lingard sent over, and Mac or Jessie will patch you up just fine, or as much as we can. We’re goin’ into Richmond, so we two can come with us and get into the hospital.”

“Thank-you, Ava,” the runner whispered. With Janet by her side, an arm around the broken girl’s shoulder, and they strode straight to the shed. Christa winced once raised, alarm voices echoed through the closing door.

As Ava breathed a shaken breath, Christa asked, gingerly, “What… What was that…about?”

“Oh.” Ava attempted a slight smile, only for it to sink away. “The… Funny that, we were actually just talking about her.”

“What?”

Ava met Christa’s eyes, and she murmured, “I should warn you, actually, going along these roads here? Especially the dirt paths and the neighborhoods… It’s the girl I mentioned. The one that…couldn’t be in a group?” Ava nodded through her frustration. “Met in that shed, actually. Like, one of the first few times I used it. And, uh, she had this kid with her. Cute kid, and we talked, and uh… She. She’s broken, I think. And lost? But a-a good heart. A good, solid heart, but she just has a damn good shell, you know? To protect it?”

“Yeah…” Christa hummed.

“Yeah.” Ava folded her arms and breathed out. “It was back when the New Frontier was still smaller. Travelling group, more like? For the most part. Some of us were scattered and stationed at, uh, a few points. Protectin’ people…? Anyway—” she watched the shed for a moment, not listening to the voices inside but instead watching her memories— “she had this kid, and the boy got sick. Real sick. I’d offered for her to join us, and she…refused. Found me a few weeks later—had been trailing our camp for a day without any of us realizing. Needed help. Medicine. That was when she agreed to be one of our runners, but only cause her boy needed it. I, uh, kinda knew she planned on dipping out once he was better. Talked a few times about it. Really only talked to me, now that I think of it…”

Christa nodded along. “How— How old is she?”

Ava gave a bitter laugh. “Shit…” She sniffed and nodded to the window, then finally tore her gaze from the shed. “That’s the thing, isn’t it? I don’t think those girls realized—hell, I didn’t realize when I met her. Knew she was still just a kid, but didn’t know by _how much,_ you know?” Ava worked her jaw. “I don’t think either of them realized she’s several years younger than them. The girl’s only, fuck, thirteen, fourteen?”

“What?” Christa breathed.

“Yeah. I couldn’t believe it either. She had to figure it out with a proper calendar. Lost track herself… I think fourteen by this point.” Ava swallowed, and continued: “But uh, yeah. When she was a runner, she picked up drinking. Again, I think. She seemed like she knew what it was and how to drink it the way she did. Had this flask at her hip at all times… A fuckin’ alcoholic, wouldn’t you believe. I don’t know what she’s been through that brought her there, but I… I didn’t do anything. I couldn’t really. She was good at what she did. Real good. Good with a gun. A knife. Dealt with walkers like they were nothing. Wasn’t afraid of trouble when people brought it. She was uh… My, uh, leader, David, always said she was a good soldier…

“But,” Ava said slowly, “she isn’t one for groups, now. Just her little boy. And when she couldn’t get the medicine after she was promised it again and again, she stole it, used it on him, and was…taken away. David took care of the kid when she left—kicking and screaming, of course—and uh, I haven’t heard much of the boy, actually. Don’t rightly know how he’s doing now, if he made it at all. David kept it quiet. And, well, all this time since…she’s been drinking, and robbing, and surviving like anyone else.”

Christa allowed a silence to dip into existence. Her brows were tightly knitted in thought, and after a while, she said, “I’m sorry to hear… I don’t— I can’t imagine anything like that. Nothing with kids.”

“Agreed… Agreed…” Ava sighed and looked to the clouds that peeked from between the trees. “A nasty storm’s coming our way… Um, well, know you’re not interested in the New Frontier, but…I’d advise you find somewhere quick.”

Christa nodded. “I’ve seen a lot like that… I’ll be fine for a few days, but that’s going to hit hard.”

“Coming right from the Atlantic…” Ava paused in thought. “Be careful out there, with those trails. I know you might not run into any trouble, but uh, I know her and her drinking, and… And _that’s—”_ she gestured back to the shed— “the worst I’ve seen of it. I don’t think she, err, meant for it the way it happened. But, it’s not something anybody wants to come across. I’d rather take this storm head-on than…” She stopped herself, grinned meekly—as a way to ditch her lamentation. Ava held out her hand, and said, “Nice meeting you though. If we run into each other again, just know that I’ll be here, yeah?”

Christa took her hand and shook gently. “Thank-you.”

Ava’s smile was soft. “Sure thing. I’ll get those supplies, and you can be off.” She turned back to the shed and left Christa there, her eyes drifting towards the storm. Christa followed her gaze and it lingered, watching the white streaks, and the grey that highlighted the edges. She stood there for a spell, her mind on many things. A storm. A drunk. A settlement.

A…child. Christa tightened her jaw and eventually dropped her gaze to the ground. She thought about the stillborn for the first time in months, and how much that pain paled in comparison to being left half-deaf on a riverbank. The ache, it never left her.

Quietly, Clementine and Omid met her side, taking her hand and squeezing her shoulder respectively.

**— — — — — — — —**

And just as Ava said and Christa herself suspected, dark, looming clouds began to curdle overhead within the following days. And when Christa had jerked awake to find that the morning was completely obscured by grey, she knew that the storm to come would be malevolent. The walkers would be out of the way, hiding from the heavy threat of rain; being downright _brainless_ stupid things, they’d still be an issue if they didn’t notice their skin sloughing off from the downpour, and that wasn’t something Christa wanted to gamble on. Nor would she want to gamble on the ferocity of what was to come, be it merciless lightning to blistering winds.

But, just her luck, the path she found herself on was bare of any sturdy shelters. And since she was warned of a drunken bandit, Christa steered clear of all the defined pathways, so her trail was more weaving precariously through trees than anything else. Which was not a good tactic in finding shelter.

Christa hissed a breath. “Do I want to get killed by a storm, or a drunk?”

 _“They’re both pretty stupid,”_ she heard Clementine say behind her, the girl meandering around the trees with ease, swinging each bend with an arm wrapped around each trunk. _“A storm’s a storm, and drunk people just fall if you run at them too quickly.”_

“You shouldn’t know that,” Christa grumbled.

Omid, who was following Clementine’s example with an added, frolic-like flare, noted, _“Well, she didn’t, but you do, so she does now.”_ She chewed the inside of her cheek. So it was one of _those_ days. Where at every opportunity, Christa would remind herself how very dead Omid and Clementine were. But, at least, Omid’s wit remained to be immortalized: _“I’d go with the drunk. That way it’s a funny story you could tell me once you get past those pearly gates.”_

“Oh my god… Omid.”

 _“I’d like that story too,”_ Clementine giggled. _“I wonder what she’s like. Maybe we could’ve gotten along, and I’d be able to help her with her drinking.”_

 _“I hope you mean you wouldn’t be_ encouraging _her,”_ Omid laughed.

 _“I wouldn’t! I hate beer and stuff,”_ Clementine said. _“I think. I never drank.”_

Christa hummed as she slowed her pace to pull out a bottle of water. “Good. Girls in an apocalypse shouldn’t drink until they’re old enough.”

Omid snickered. _“With the deal we made, she’d still be drinking five years early.”_

“You were the one who said she could have your beers at thirteen. I don’t want to hear it,” Christa murmured, amused.

As they continued to wander through the wilderness, together, Christa zipped up her vest to the curve of her neck, its collar relaxed. She kept an eye out for anything—movement, or the outline of a structure. Preferably one still standing.

_“I wonder what she’s like.”_

Christa turned to her side where Clementine strode, brow focused and lips thin. “Who?”

Clementine blinked. _“The girl who drinks and steals. I wonder if something made her that way, or she was always supposed to do that.”_

The woman nodded with a hum. “I guess so.” She stopped at the foot of a small pile of branches and looked around. Christa said, “You never can know these days… Everyone has their demons now.” She glanced at Clementine and Omid, who watched her sadly. Christa turned away. “I can’t imagine a girl breaking someone’s jaw like that, though. It’s probably for the best that you never got to meet her, Clem.”

 _“But what if…I did grow up like that anyway?”_ Christa was startled, and she stared at the little girl. _“What if I never got happy again before I died? I didn’t smile for a year, you know,”_ Clementine murmured quietly, wearing the same, hardened expression Christa tried ever so desperately to bury.

Christa dismissed her and said, through a grumble, “You wouldn’t have. You never meant to hurt anyone.”

 _“That’s right,”_ Omid chimed. _“I only died from a stupid little mistake. You weren’t the one who pulled the trigger.”_

 _“Maybe you’re right,”_ Clementine said. _“Though who’s to say? I’m dead, so I never got the chance. Maybe it was a good thing I didn’t liv—”_

“Quit that!” Christa snarled. She blinked, and after a few panicked seconds, she heaved a long breath. Christa was once again alone; she’d scared them off again. After another few seconds, now of debating, Christa decided to carry onwards, dipping to the right. She drove her thoughts away from the drunken bandit as the storm clouds began to grumble their presence.

Christa didn’t know how close to night it was, but the tremble of her gut said enough: soon. Too soon.

She continued to wander the wilderness alone, scouring for anything that resembled luck. Christa wanted a dry, warm place. Maybe a fantasy, with a roasting fire in an abandoned fireplace, or a cozy bed in a cabin. She hoped and hoped for both, just to have the dreams back when everything was okay. When Omid and Clementine were truly by her side, and every storm was spent within the confines of a temporary haven.

**— — — — — — — —**

Christa was soaked. The rain splintered through her skin and dug deep into her bones. With every slash of lightning and stomp of thunder, her urgency to find shelter screamed. Christa’s head throbbed with strands of grey hair leaking down her face, and her boots sloshed into the mud that gripped around her ankles.

She roamed through the trees and overgrown brush, eyes set on the dim glow ahead. It was in an abandoned barn, half-collapsed with a grand ranch house adorning the horizon. If only she could see the property's beauty within that sodden night. Christa's grip tightened around the pistol's holster for a moment, listening. Walkers groaned in the distance, though she wasn't worried. If lightning struck her right there, _then_ Christa would find reason to worry. By that point, if a bolt of lightning wasn't the universe trying to do her away, it was the attraction of the walkers. Or a gunshot to the head by an unsuspecting threat, surely in the barn.

She doubted that rickety thing had secure electricity, if any, in its _hay-day,_ and a candle certainly couldn't light itself. Yet…there was that soft glow. And despite her weariness, she needed shelter from this damn storm. Christa pressed forward, painfully aware of every movement around her. The long grass tossed and turned, and the old barn creaked and groaned. Even so, it was safe. Maybe.

Okay. _Definitely_ not, but the trees did nothing for the storm. Ergo, barn.

Christa opened the door with a nudge of her shoulder, hoping that hinges squeaking wouldn't be suspicious considering the weather. Sure enough, the wind inconspicuously held the door open and allowed Christa to carefully step inside. Within the sturdy half of the barn, the space felt snug, cupped by the young flame flickering in an antique lantern. Away from the windows and broken ceiling panels, the barn proved itself to be a reliable shelter. Christa sighed, though kept her pistol tight in her hand.

Her eyes peered into the shadows. Nothing. No outline, just plain wooden panels. There weren’t any stalls for animals, nor an overhang for haybales. The barn, it seemed, was just for storage. Christa stepped to the side and jumped. Her eyes darted towards where glass had clinked, and she realized underneath the lantern was a pile of empty bottles of various whiskies and beers. Her gaze followed the pile to a loose floorboard. With ease and care, she uncovered a bundle of bottles, unopened, at the bottom of the barn.

A stash. A hoard.

Once an arrow of lightning illuminated the doorway in a terrifying blaze, Christa saw the outline of a figure with a cocked gun. Immediately, she was to her feet, hands raised; judging from the shadow, the barrel of the firearm had to have been her forearm’s length.

She heard the creaks of a floorboard, then the slam of a door. Christa doubted the gun ever lost aim of its target in those dragging few seconds. With the storm muffled, the next few words hissed at Christa were crystal: "Those aren't yours. Step. Away."

Christa swallowed, brow arched. The tension in her shoulders uncoiled. "You sound like a scared little girl. What are you doing with this, hon? You a runner?"

There was a sharp scoff. "I'm not the one with my hands over my head. Now turn around before I blow your insides out."

"You wouldn't kill for a drink, would you?" Christa asked, testing her limits. This girl couldn't have been an adult, and if she was, undergraduate-aged _maybe._ Still, she continued to press after a moment of silence, murmuring, "A young girl like yourself? What's a drink got to do with you?"

"What does it matter? It's not like anybody actually cares anymore. It's be alive or dead. No in between. Now step away." Christa tightened her jaw and obeyed, shifting towards the middle of the barn. The more the girl spoke at once, the more unease irked her. Her words were strung together almost like a thrum, though any rhythmic sway was replaced by cold, threatening notes. "Now... Now go over and turn around." Christa narrowed her gaze as she did so, debating her chances. Her words dawned a cold realization: the girl was drunk, she knew. Hammered, at that.

And if she was hammered…then, well…Christa could take her on, couldn't she?

From the outline of shadows, the girl couldn't have been taller than Christa's shoulders. She squinted, wanting to see the face that surely glared back at her. But no. The only thing that had the lantern's settled glow was the end of the shotgun. The barrel then tilted as the girl shuffled, reaching for her hip. Christa heard a canister and a splash of liquid, which the girl practically inhaled. Once swallowed, she growled, "Now what do you have on you?"

Christa blinked, perplexed. "What?"

"What do you have on you? You try to come over here and steal from me, and I'll steal from you."

"Have you no hospitality?!" Christa snapped. "Or have you always just gone so low as to snatch what people starve for?"

"How about I don't give a shit?! Life is a bitch. People are the Devil. Why should I care? I've starved for that—" she jolted the shotgun towards the bottles, emptied and filled— "and I'm not having you take it."

A sneer was pulled across Christa's face. "I'm not having some drunk little brat take my things." Her hand flew to her pistol, and then she aimed.

The girl… She didn’t flinch. "How are you gonna feel when a drunk little brat actually takes your shit?"

Christa didn't answer. Her jaw tightened as the strangest fear startled to trickle into her thoughts. It was an alien one, or a feeling she had long since abandoned with her time alone on the road. It was a fear detached of herself. She gripped the pistol tighter, confused. The girl was undoubtedly dangerous. An edge plagued the fear—an edge that Christa knew very well, and was surprised it took her long to find it. The dry wit. The hostile bites of words. The aggression. Unphased by the possibility of Christa unloading a bullet into her. It all meant one thing:

Self-destruction.

This girl was a time-bomb. A kamikaze, in a way. Only, Christa figured that with her words drowned in alcohol, it wasn't immediately obvious. The terrifying thing remained to be understood, however. The strange fear was building, and it did not care about the mentality of the girl in the shadows.

The girl's next few words startled Christa, confirming her anxious observations: "You... You would kill me for this, yeah?"

A knot twisted horribly in her gut. That wasn't the question she was asking, Christa knew. "I try not to kill over alcohol, no," Christa replied flatly. "Or being robbed, for the matter. You make enemies that way."

 _Can you kill me?_ That was the question.

 _No, unless you give me a good reason._ That was Christa's answer.

"’Try…’" the girl echoed. "The people who _try_ are dead. There isn't any _trying_ anymore…" The shotgun barrel jerked to the side, then back again. "Turn around, look to the ceiling, and then close your eyes." Christa shook her head, though obliged nonetheless. She did as she was told, except for the piercing stare she kept above her, aimed to the ceiling. There wasn’t any way she’d close her eyes. In that dim barn, there wasn’t any way she’d allow herself to be left completely blind.

Christa’s pistol was kept securely within her hands. She heard steps creep from out of the shadows, and felt the shotgun to the small of her back. Her stare dropped to the wall as the food she'd recently found was slipped from her pocket.

The girl's silhouette flickered with the lamplight. A scarf. A jacket. A ball-cap. The shotgun.

"That was the last granola bar," Christa hissed quietly.

"I said keep your head up. And your eyes aren't closed, are they?"

Christa narrowed her gaze. "No. They're not." She tensed as a sly hand reached into her boot and slid out her lengthy blade. Christa knew the girl was studying it— _impressed,_ judging from the light hum. "And what are you going to do with me, leave me out there?"

The silhouette held the knife out languidly, shotgun relaxed and to the ceiling. "That's not a bad idea…" she drawled.

The limit of Christa's patience was being tested—purposefully. Prodding a sleeping bear with a dull spear. The girl wanted this, if not for the hell of it, for the resources. But ultimately, for a _chance._ Christa's hands balled, with one to a fist and the other around the pistol. A part of her was angry for being goaded into this—bullied, more like. Another part was prideful, wanting to snap around and pin the girl to the wall with a whirl of fists and bullets. However, a shrapnel of her being played a far sinister game. Christa was terrified, and of _what_ she didn't know. She was never a small woman, nor a weak one. Christa could fight and get away with few marks, and that had nothing on her quick wit or sharp tongue. Christa could easily overtake this girl, and it seemed as if she'd be allowed to.

Although, despite everything…she was terrified. Christa knew she had yet to learn this girl's true nature, the demons underneath her skin and in her gaze. Everybody had them at this point, though the manifestations always varied. A worn-torn grandmother, without a family, had spent the rest of her days aiding a trading post with her last horse; the ghosts of her granddaughters and son were still in her eyes. A manic ex-boxer who rounded-up a gang of thieves that would kill everybody—grandmothers to geldings—if too close to their walls; his voice strained with his haunting past. Christa, a bitter, lone survivor who'd failed to keep her husband alive, then lost their shared legacy with a child never-born, and the overbearing guilt of losing the one chance she had left was what overtook her—the one chance that was long since dead at a riverbank.

As her fears shook her voice, Christa whispered, "Is this fun for you? Fucking people over?"

Her thoughts writhed.

And what of this girl? By the sound of her voice, she knew the damned world they shared well. She wasn't a scared little girl—not at all. Christa knew they were a lot alike. Bitter. Lone. Calculating. Had she lost her family? Had she been banished? Escaped death? Forgotten by others? Abandoned outright? Was this girl stolen from? Had she killed?

"Of course not. It's just too easy."

Christa froze. Her anxiety: beating heart, racing thoughts, thumping ears. Her suspicions: the shadow, the lantern, the shotgun. Whatever was manifesting inside the woman fidgeted. She had to turn around. Her strange fear urged her to do so. To solve its little mystery. To understand the demons that plagued this girl. To understand _why_ she, a woman of brevity, was so, _utterly,_ horrified.

And with the knife as a distraction, Christa took her only chance.

She swung around, knocking the blade out of the girl's hand at the wrist, then clobbered her in the shoulder with one motion. The ball-cap was tossed to the door before it sagged to the ground. The girl drunkenly staggered into the wall, sneering. She lifted her head, and her stare was violent. Christa barely had the time to swerve to the side as the girl lunged; she found herself startled by the girl's eyes. They were brazened, swarmed with intensity.

Eyes of hellfire. Eyes of a dragon.

Christa was slammed into the wall, the shotgun shoved across her chest. Christa coughed hoarsely; the girl was strong, more than she thought. It was as if Christa had gone head-to-head with a ram. Her shoulders were restricted, and her throat knotted itself. Christa's glare remained steady on hers, teeth bared. She kicked the girl, hard, in the knee before she felt an explosion of pain to her hip. Christa tumbled to the ground with a grunt and lost her pistol. The floorboards groaned as she stumbled back to her feet, her attacker charging with a slight limp. Christa swung with a fist, and she knocked the girl to the floor by the shoulder.

The door shuttered against the bellowing winds.

Christa—everything a frenzy—wrangled the girl's scarf and found her hands at her throat. As the girl choked and writhed, Christa felt the tremble of her fears rocket throughout her body. Abrupt tears began to leak down her face, falling to the girl's cheeks.

 _Kill me._ Those eyes of an intoxicated dragon burned. _Kill me. Do it._

_I can't. I don’t know why. I just can’t._

The girl snarled furiously, a hand reaching to her side as Christa continued to wrestle with herself. Without warning, an empty beer bottle was smashed against the bridge of her nose. Christa howled as she rolled off, tremors jerking her body in agony. And the girl pounced, the knife in her hand. Except... Christa grunted as the hilt was shoved against her sternum. Except, the knife's blade was instead held towards the girl, the handle pushed against Christa's jugular.

It was a sort of sick game, this. Neither wanted to kill each other. Christa, with her swarm of fears and anxieties—not to mention the pang of her gut that explicitly told her not to. The girl, who surely was fighting only to end it all, gave them both the excuse; it was a chaotic, insane suicide. And from the demons Christa saw in her gaze, she couldn't blame the girl. She didn't know how much booze was downed that night, but Christa figured it was enough for this.

A sick game indeed.

She coughed, choking on the blood that drained from her nose as she wrestled with the knife. At that moment, with Christa's eyes set on the delinquent, a burst of lightning whitened the room. The girl's face was completely illuminated.

It was warped with an enraged insanity. No. _Corrupted,_ as those eyes were. Hazel. No longer of… Of the… The sun.

Color drained from Christa. Her greatest fear. Hovering over her with a knife. Broken her nose. Bitterly drunk.

Not.

Dead.

 _No, wait, it can’t be. She’s dead. She’s. Dead._ The girl jerked the knife and planted its hilt deeper into Christa’s chest with a baritone thump. _She died years ago._ Christa’s heart hammered against the knife, and she knew the girl could feel it beat through her hands. _How is she here?!_ With a surge of terror, Christa shoved the girl off of herself and jolted to her feet.

Christa backed herself into the crumbled wall, drips of rain leaking onto her shoulders. Her eyes drifted towards the door, then to the Dodgers cap. It was crumpled, but she recognized it all the same.

The girl grunted, leaning against the adjacent wall, the glow of the lantern carving sharp shadows in her face. She breathed heavily, and the girl watched Christa with an unsettling glare as she sucked the knuckle of her cut thumb. Christa shook her head, their shared weariness anchoring them in place.

"Oh my god…" Christa whispered.

She had seen those eyes before. But back then, after the sun had left, they were a starved fire—bitterly cold and depressively weak. Yet they still managed to clutch a shard of innocence, though splintered.

"Oh God…oh... Oh my god…"

Now a beast lurked within them. The bitter cold had warped into drunken madness, and a restless hatred was forged from the ashes of depressive weakness. Even out of her mind, the demons that this girl had were unnaturally awake and conscious.

Christa swallowed, a hand cautiously outstretched. "Is... Is it really you…?"

The girl frowned at the woman and sagged against the doorframe, her ball-cap hanging in her fist.

Oh how she had matured. Christa could barely believe it. She was truly built to survive, even with her hair reminiscent of older times—those of innocence—, only overgrown. Christa was still shaking just watching her. Could it be she hadn't failed her…? Failed Lee…?

"…Clementine?"

The girl paled, froze, and stared wildly at Christa. Her eyes narrowed in confusion. Christa's heart hammered. She had forgotten her. Christa _did_ fail her.

She tried again, practically begging: "I-It's me, Clem. It's me."

Clementine took a long, long moment to search within herself. Through her demons to a lifetime ago. She stared back at Christa, who only just realized that her greyed hair and worn skin would've been a merciless reality to any familiar face.

And yet… "Christa…?"

Everything was knocked out of her. Christa fell to her knees, croaking a soft, "Clementine." She swallowed, wiping the blood that streamed from her nose as Clementine watched her through glassy eyes. "I thought you died. I couldn't find you."

"I... I thought…" Clementine frowned, slowly slipping on the Dodgers cap. "I looked for you. Where…?" she breathed.

Christa didn't know what to do with herself. "Wellington, before it was overrun." Hug her? Keep their distance? She didn't have the faintest idea. "I never saw you there."

Clementine's face hardened as she worked her jaw. It was clear from her clouded eyes that she was lost in her thoughts. "I was with…our friend, and we _were_ going north, but…when he died, I couldn't take it." It was quiet and pained. The weary woman watched her, apprehensive. She tilted her head, her eyes following Clementine as she first shut the door, then dragged a small chair from the shadows towards the hung lantern. Clementine slumped down and picked up a bottle from the floorboard.

"'Our friend?'" Christa finally asked. "I don't understand."

Clementine stared at the floor, a bronze bottle held by the neck. "There's another chair over there, I think." Christa glanced to the right; indeed there was a chair, along with blankets, a few mattresses, and an over-stuffed bag. She pulled the chair a space from the girl and waited. Clementine didn't look at her. To avoid her shame. Christa was sure of it. Within a few minutes, though, Clementine managed to slide her eyes up. "Want one?" she drawled bitterly.

Christa was taken aback. She shouldn't have, or expected herself to be. In all honesty, Christa had forgotten that she promised herself to wait until Clementine was sixteen to drink. And the girl was not sixteen, but still a drunk. Slowly, Christa nodded. "I could use one," she added in a murmur. A bottle was handed over, opened, and Christa took a swig. She grimaced. It was beer. She _hated_ it with a passion, but then considered the undead just outside the collapsed barn. With a rekindled curiosity, she asked, "So why hold out in this shithole?"

Clementine shrugged. "'Cause? I already went through all the houses here. People always find a way in one way or another. Nobody ever touches this place."

"Except me…"

"…yeah, except you." Clementine twirled her bottle languidly in her hands, watching the beer slosh along the sides. “And…sorry for breaking your nose too.”

For a moment, everything was lighter, and Christa hummed a laugh. “It’s fine. I’d rather have a broken nose than dead. …thanks for not killing me.”

“Yeah. Um… Me too.”

They paused, and the light moment blinked out of existence. Christa took another sip of the beer and grimaced. As she pondered, though, she watched Clementine. She was staring into the lantern blankly, rubbing the stump of a finger. Clementine had grown since they separated, and Christa noticed the small things that a mother would note. Her face had matured, and her skin had darkened into an olive complexion. Her hair was fluffed around the edges of the ball-cap. Her curves had filled out.

After a third swing of beer, Christa swallowed. “What happened to you? After we separated?”

Clementine’s shrug was slow. “I dunno. I looked for you. Got attacked by a dog. Found a new group. They died. I can’t _stand_ the fucking cold. So. I wandered back down to here.” By the way she frowned into her bottle, Christa knew there was more to the story.

“Clementine?” Eyes of hellfire slid to her. “You said you were with our friend. What…did you mean by that?” Christa asked quietly.

The question was avoided entirely: “What about you? Where did you go, other than here?”

Christa paused, though answered, “Well, I got to Wellington on my own. Managed a job as a medic’s assistant… Then, well, the place was attacked, and I left. There weren’t that many survivors. And I did what I did before.”

“Really?”

Christa didn’t know if it was the beer—and she hoped it was—, because the unamused tone in Clementine’s words was solemn yet coarse. Christa desperately hoped it was only the beer and not a stirring hatred for the woman. She asked, cautiously, “Yes? What makes you ask that?”

“You look like shit,” Clementine grumbled into her next swing.

“And you’re any better?”

The laugh that followed was bitter, and oddly relaxed. “I’ve made myself a living…”

Christa frowned. With a sick hunch, she took another sip of her beer. “You wouldn’t be the…” She blinked, and her eyes traveled to the pile of bottles. “You wouldn’t be the one going around stealing from runners, would you?”

Clementine watched her, with a grin that didn’t meet her eyes. “I see you ran into Ava.” Christa blinked, apprehensive. “Shaved head?” Her chest dropped, but Christa couldn’t find herself surprised. Not with how adept Clementine was from striking fear into the woman the moment she stepped into the shed, shotgun ready and words coarse. Not by how smoothly Clementine had moved to slipping her valuables from her pockets. Effortless. Trained.

Amber eyes widened. What happened to… “Clementine!” Janet with the broken jaw. Christa, after her gasp, was speechless. Her girl…what had happened to her?

“What?! Are you _scolding_ me now?!” Clementine snarled. From the hellfire in her eyes, Christa saw the swarm of guilt festering with the cracks of hatred—of humans, Christa knew. And maybe that included Clementine herself. She didn’t doubt it. She couldn’t… From the hellfire in her eyes, it was the only truth. “Look, I don’t _enjoy_ stealing from people!”

“You sure look like it!” Christa scoffed, utterly bewildered. “You— You better not…”

Clementine waved her off with her bottle, it’s contents sloshing irritably. “No. I don’t. I’m just good at it enough to _survive._ You think I can just find food and shit at random? In this hellhole?! There isn’t _anything_ easy to come by that hasn’t been claimed. All of these people around here are military. They’ve already taken everything. There isn’t even good hunt around for me to eat!” She drained another gulp of beer, the last of it, and dropped it to the pile. “What I enjoy is fucking over the New Frontier. Watching the last of them go around… I’m not a good person, I got that, so _quit_ looking at me like you’re surprised.” Christa tightened her grip around her bottle’s neck, still blindsided by it all. And mournful. Of the girl she knew. Clementine turned away and held herself. “I’m not a good person, but they— _They_ don’t care about anything other than themselves.” She paused, and her anger crackled with her guilt. “Well…except maybe Ava. She’s the only one that warns people of me.”

Christa’s jaw grew terse, and she squeezed her bottle again. Then deflated. She remembered all of what Ava had told her, and the girls that had caught the worst side of Clementine. Her eyes travelled to the backpack in the shadows with a pang of suspect, though she only could manage a long breath. “She… Ava, she told me about a boy?”

She half-expected Clementine to snap again, and half-expected her to reach for another bottle and…do something. That, Christa didn’t know what to expect.

However, she was wrong on all accounts. Clementine appeared unfazed, as if she expected a similar question. Though, then again, the silence that stilled the barn—which somehow even paused the storm outside—said otherwise.

“Clementine…?”

The girl turned away and reached for another bottle. She didn’t open it, but instead Clementine watched her warbled, distorted reflection in the glass from the lantern’s light. “If you’re wondering if I ever got pregnant, no,” Clementine hissed, every word hollow, “I never did anything like that.”

To say Christa wasn’t a bit relieved was an understatement. She nodded, and with a very sore attempt that would leave even Omid to grimace, Christa said, “Well at least you skipped the fun part.”

“Oh my _god,”_ Clementine groaned with a partial gag. Christa caught eyes of hellfire before they rolled, deeply unamused. Yet, her blush followed, and she grumbled, “Why do you people always have to make that so weird?”

“What people?”

“ _Adults._ Always with the gross things for me to picture.”

Sore attempt be damned, Christa found herself glad for it. If this was a scrap of the old Clementine she found, it was worth it. She brought the bottle to her lips and murmured, “I’m not telling you to picture anything.” Christa took a sip and immediately gawked, having completely forgotten how vile beer was.

“That’s a fat lie,” Clementine muttered with a small, though honest, grin.

“Maybe…” And as quickly as it came, Christa felt the moment slip away. Her curiosity was still there, lurking, and all Christa wanted to do in that moment was know what had happened to her girl after so many years. “Cl-Clementine…” she murmured, quiet. “What happened to him? Did you…raise a kid by yourself?”

Clementine took a while to answer, and before she did, she stared at the floor, lost in thought. Christa had sipped an eighth of her beer, flinching every-so-often whenever the glass grazed her nose. And every time, Christa had to blink away some stars; she was glad that Clementine hadn’t hit her nose with the bottle any lower or higher, otherwise their conversation would’ve been silent, or half a jumbling of vowels.

“There was a woman. Her name was Rebecca.”

Christa jerked from her meandering thoughts and turned to her side.

Clementine’s gaze hadn’t budged. “And she had a husband, I think, or a boyfriend, I don’t know. But, that was Alvin, and they were in a group… I hated her at first. She reminded me a lot of you when you got really pregnant, but more bitchy and whiny. It was mutual, though.” Clementine rubbed her arm, and as her eyes traveled along it, she pulled the sleeve down. Christa caught some of the deep, unsettling scar that gashed her forearm almost in two. “Rebecca was one of the people to throw me in this shed to see if I’d turn… I got bit by the dog real bad, and I’ve always sucked at stitching, but I managed, and she quit trying to kill me. And then after a minute, she apologized and asked me for advice for whatever reason, so I…dunno, let it go I guess.”

Finally, for the first time that night, Christa heard the normal drunkenness one would expect from however many amounts of beer. Clementine’s words were strung together in a thrum, suddenly exhausted without the spite of her demons.

“The group and her and I went north. They were being followed, and I got swept up with them… Luke, Carlos, Nick, Sarah and them… Yeah…” She tapped her fresh bottle, debating. “Got to this lodge. Met our friend and his new group.”

Christa tilted her head. “’Friend?’” she echoed. “’Our friend?’”

Clementine nodded slowly. “K-Kenny…” She paused and rubbed the neck of the bottle with her thumb. “He never died. He managed to get out of Savanah fine. Met a woman and…yeah. He was at the lodge, and had these plans about Wellington and all that, especially when I told him that’s what we were doing… Isn’t that funny?”

“I suppose.”

“Yeah…” Clementine rested against the bottle, cheek to its side. “Shit got messy quick. It was good for the night, if that, and…then… People died. The one group following us took us to this huge shelter. Kept us there… I…” She frowned and swallowed. “I got a lot of people killed. Like… Like with Omid.” Christa felt her chest tighten and throat constrict. Clementine’s words were resigned of any wavered tones, but with each syllable, Christa heard her tormenting grief thrive. “Kenny, he even lo—” Clementine worked her jaw. “He even lost an eye for me. But our group, mine and his, there was so few of us left after that… Just, just…” She rubbed her forehead and croaked. “So many people died. And I was there for all of them. And I could’ve saved most of them, but I didn’t… I-I didn’t know what to do.”

Christa closed her eyes and nodded, then watched Clementine. “You were still a kid. Nobody should expect otherwise.”

Clementine gave a sorrowful laugh. “Right. A kid.” She blinked. “Rebecca gave birth, and Kenny and I, we knew. W-We knew that…” Her voice cracked, and she hissed, “That A.J, he was the only chance we h-had. I-I had to put Rebecca down. She turned and… And I— I knew that, that A.J… _Fuck.”_

The bottle was dropped to her lap as she held her face, tears leaking from between her fingers. “H-He was my little boy. I-I wasn’t alone, b-but, A.J was my goofball. And…” Clementine bit the knuckle of her thumb, eyes shut as she searched through her demons, rousing them. “We continued north, a-and it only got colder. Shit continued to kill people around m-me… The rest of them, besides Kenny, A.J, Jane and I, they tried to leave in the middle of the night. Shot me right in the shoulder. Kenny must’ve k-killed them, I dunno, because I… Next thing I knew, we were in the truck, and the rest were left behind…”

Clementine opened her eyes, and they continued to crawl along the wall, up to the lantern. “Th-They were arguing. They wouldn’t _stop._ They kept going and going and going until we couldn’t drive on. We crashed, actually…”

Christa could only remain silent, equally as horrified as she was solemn. She saw the same beast, a dragon, swarm Clementine’s eyes, and the lines of the girl’s face sharpened to what they were not twenty minutes ago.

“Jane, Kenny and I were left… She didn’t have the baby, and… And K-Kenny lost it. Th-They fought, and fought, and screamed and yelled, and I-I couldn’t do a thing. H-He had a knife to her chest, and I-I found my pistol again.” Clementine’s words drove along the fine line between security and turmoil. They were fashioned like any sober man’s, though with each round vowel or soft edge, there were cracked and worn tones. “And she begged me t-to stop him. Sh-She did…b-but I couldn’t. A.J was gone, and… And she wasn’t…

“So I let Kenny kill her, just to stop the fighting and the screaming and yelling. A-All of it. But, when I s-saw what he did. When I realized what he fucking did, I… I wanted him dead.” Clementine turned to Christa, her eyes piercing with a fickle distortion. “I…wanted him…dead,” she breathed. “I-I pointed the pistol at him. I was tired. I wanted _nothing_ to do with anyone else. S-So I pointed it at him, and killed him.” Her tears carved themselves into her skin, and Clementine wept, “A-And it was so, fucking, _easy._ F-For a moment, I was freed and alone. All alone, I could hear my thoughts, and see everything around me without having to _think_ about anyone else… E-Except for A-A.J, a-and Lee… You, Omid… I could just sit there, and _think_ without needing to look over my shoulder. I-I don’t think I cared if I was shot then, or attacked by a walker. I was just…there. W-With Kenny’s head blown apart, and Jane dead… I-I…”

Her hand trembled, and she covered her mouth. The bottle rolled and fell off her lap. Christa set the last of her beer down, and tentatively, her hand hovered for the girl. “Clementine… Sweetie…”

“When I heard him crying,” Clementine strangled through her hand, “it was like the sun had come out just as the ground was collapsing underneath m-me… H-He was fucking alive. J-Jane didn’t kill him. She only wanted to prove how much of a fucking bomb Kenny was, a-and I was left all alone w-with A-A.J…”

Christa found her hand on Clementine’s shoulder, and she squeezed as Clementine sobbed into herself. Oh, how much Clementine had grown. Christa felt her eyes burn as she squeezed, her chest split open for her. Clementine was no girl—she couldn’t have been.

“A.J… He’s your son, isn’t he?” Clementine nodded, and she continued to cry into her hands. A mother. More than Christa ever was. But…now, there was a chance. A scrap. A moment. Softly, Christa cooed, “And you did everything for him?”

“Y-Yes…” Clementine croaked. “I-I did everything. W-We kept moving, went south… He was with me every step o-of the way, a-and when he got sick, I did the only thing I could a-and found Ava… She b-brought me in to work so that A.J could get the medicine he n-needed…” She hissed a breath and tightened her hands. “But they wouldn’t…so I made sure he got it. I got caught, immediately, and… A-And they— They took him away from me.”

“Sweetie…” Christa whispered, pulling the chair closer as Clementine clung onto her. “I-I’m so sorry… I-I’m here, I’m here.”

Clementine choked and swallowed with a shake of her head. “No…” she murmured unevenly. “N-No.” She pulled away, and in her eyes, Christa saw the girl she once knew. Not only from after Lee, but the girl she met on the bridge so many years ago. And the girl was warning her, with a dragon in her eyes bathed in hellfire, and the broken grief that alcohol couldn’t tame. “No,” Clementine whispered. “Get as far away from here as you can. Back north. South. West. Fuck, even east on an island. But not here… Th-The New Frontier. There’s something going on, I can feel it. I know something’s changing, and it’s for the worse. Please. Listen to me and go. Leave me… I-I can’t go anywhere.”

“Clementine—”

“I’m. Stuck. Here,” Clementine forced tearfully. “I can’t just _leave._ B-But you can. So go.”

Christa nodded gently, unsure though swayed by that little girl in her eyes. But, “Not tonight.” She rubbed Clementine’s back, and she murmured, “I’m not leaving tonight.”

Eyes of hellfire searched her, and they glimmered with a fresh layer of tears. “I-I’m sorry…”

It was the same apology. Once again. Though, this time, Christa’s words were soft: “No. Stop that. Quit apologizing.”

“But I… I—”

“No. I know what you’re going to say, and… No.” Clementine paused and waited. Apprehensive. Startled. Completely disarmed from the malice she had when she walked through that door with a bolt of lightning. “You don’t have to say anything at all, okay?” Clementine nodded silently, and Christa took a moment to bring Clementine closer as she should’ve done many, many years ago. "I never blamed you for Omid's death," Christa whispered, tearful. "I blamed myself, and how I wished we didn't let you be alone, or wished that we paid closer attention to whoever was around... I know what happened, but I never _blamed_ you… I wouldn't have been able to handle it if I lost you. I— I _couldn’t_ handle it when I _did._ I was just angry, Clem, and scared. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry that I pushed…you away. I-I'm sorry I let you blame yourself.

"And— And Clementine. I'm sorry I-I wasn't there when you needed me. I— I'm sorry. And… And I-I’m sorry that I haven’t thanked you for my live sooner. You, you saved me, and I-I should have always been the one to apologize."

“Chr-Christa…”

“No… For once, please, Clementine, let me. I-I wasn’t there for you, was I? B-But… But you were for me, and I took it for granted. So please. I’m sorry. And I’m sorry that you’ve fallen to your demons more than I ever had.

“I-I’m sorry, Clementine. I’m so…so sorry I never told you that I loved you like my own daughter… I’m sorry…”

And with that, Clementine unfolded in her arms. Her nails dug through Christa's jacket, and she sobbed against her, quite utterly broken apart.

**— — — — — — — —**

The beams of the morning sun through the torn wooden wall was what awoke Christa. She was curled around herself, her deaf ear pressed against a worn cushion-for-a-pillow she laid across.

And…Clementine slept soundlessly beside her, the cap folded over her eyes like she had done all those years ago, arms tucked along her chest. In the light, Christa saw more of what she had become, especially with the amber glass of the whiskey bottle nestling in her arms, and the flask at her hip. But, all the same, Christa saw the peace that had finally dawned Clementine’s face within her sleep, and how she had grown into a pretty girl. And, one day, Christa knew she’d blossom into a beautiful woman.

As she sat up, her stomach lurched and her spine itched. Christa…wouldn’t ever get the chance to teach her how to protect herself. Nor about the nature of being a woman, nor about love, or people, or relationships. The _adult_ side of a family. None of it.

Her hand balled into a fist against the floorboard.

Half of Christa wanted to stay, and the other half wanted her to go back to sleep. However, deep in her chest, she knew she had to leave. She knew another thing. That Clementine would not remember a scrap of the night prior, which told Christa one thing: it wasn’t _for her_ to remember. Only Christa. And the warnings Clementine gave, she had to heed them. She had to leave for her own good. Clementine would find her way, at some point—when her demons didn’t anchor her to the earth.

And so, Christa squeezed Clementine’s unmoving shoulder, got to her feet, then reached the door. Her eyes wafted to the sleeping girl, taking in the Dodgers cap over her face one final time. After a long minute, she was gone to the fields. After a long _few_ minutes, when Christa reached the trees, she lingered.

This was a goodbye. This was a conclusion. This morning, and the prior night, were for closure.

But, even so, she could steal a last moment from the shadows. So Christa waited within the trees, watching the barn. In that time, she thought about the little girl she failed. From when a bitten man asked her his final wish, to finding her in crowded wheat fields—alone. From her lover’s death, to the burial of her unborn child. From learning the bitten man’s fate at the hands of the little girl, to losing her.

All of it. All of the scraps of memories Christa held. The little white dress the girl wore, so stained by the world that it was more yellow than anything. The weathered sun in her eyes that had warped into hellfire from her time of absence.

Christa froze. Hours had passed by, and finally, she watched Clementine stride out of the barn, the shotgun secure in her arms. Christa watched the girl look either way, take a swig from her flask, then meander across the field to the road behind the ranch house. And Christa wiped her tears into her sleeves, turned around, then walked the opposite way.

For her, there was a little girl remembered. But, and Christa knew, for Clementine, there was only a yellow dress forgotten.

Christa swallowed. In a low whisper, she uttered something, which had become a mantra, for the final time:

“I’m sorry, Clementine. I’m so, so sorry.”

But as she walked away, into the sodden trees where mist splayed, Christa walked with Omid marching alongside her once more. And Clementine, too, who through the dew of the grass grew up, with her Dodger’s cap overtop her overgrown hair, each step one of the strength of a survivor’s. Within eyes of hellfire, there was that blink of sunlight, the one that Christa caught and held as the night bled to rest.

The one that spoke to a little girl remembered, now found after many years displaced.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay! So, yeah, a little intermission with Christa. Now, of course, it doesn't necessarily impact the story all together considering…Clementine didn't remember that night, but, I had a line of thought stuck in my head, and wanted to publish this as a one-shot that is kinda tagging along the main story (hence the name). Obviously, that didn't happen because I figured it would (hopefully) make up for the lack of updates. ;)
> 
> Anyway, now I am working on the arc covering the fourth season of TWDG—and I'm just as eager getting this show on the road as you are. Believe me. We have four episodes to go, and a lot of words/time to spend with the school kids. Especially Violet, since this story is Violentine, after all. But, because these chapters are going to be the death of me (each and every one of them), these will take some time pumping out. Or not, who knows.
> 
> Oh who am I kidding. You and I know that ain't the truth. xD I am planning on stepping away for a little bit longer to (hopefully) get some one-shots and things done. That, and the other project I mentioned in the first note; I'm working on another longer story to completion in another fandom, so when I'm publishing that, since it's done, I'll be able to come back to this without all of my focus on that. Ergo, if you follow me in general, when you see a lil soulmate fic pop up in the LWA fandom, you'll know that I've started working on this story. :D (Also…I hit just over 100k on my doc for this fic, so whoopie!)
> 
> With that, I hope you're enjoying A Yellow Dress Forgotten thus far! And that you enjoyed the interlude/little break from the main thing. It was certainly fun to write!
> 
> :)
> 
> PS. Already miss writing Christa's character. ;_;


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